


How to Chain Your Dragon

by LessonsFromMoths



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dragon AU, Dragon Bond, Dragon!Stiles, Fire, Hurt!Stiles, I promise, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Werewolves, What Was I Thinking, httyd canon, i just love this au, im just sterek af, no beastiality, not sorry, oh god im so glad i wrote this, pack bond, small hale fire, sterek, stiles is a night fury, talia is the alpha, why didnt i write this sooner?, you dont need httyd knowledge to understand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LessonsFromMoths/pseuds/LessonsFromMoths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale has always been the least werewolfiest werewolf in existence, and he's really getting sick of it. When he finally catches a break and accidentally takes down a Night Fury, he cannot believe his fortune (or misfortune). He's expecting an angry, vicious Night Fury--what he gets is a sarcastic, furious boy. </p><p>How can the awkward boy and the deadly dragon be the same creature?</p><p> </p><p>(UPDATE: I am currently working on slowly fixing this story. Any updates added to this fic within the next month or so will be revamped versions of each chapter. None will be left untouched! Feel free to re-read as I improve or just ignore me! Thanks for all the support, you guys! <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which A Werewolf & A Dragon Meet

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say that this au spawned from my mind absolutely randomly when I though "huh. Stiles would be a really cute dragon," and then grew from there.
> 
> I have _no_ beta, _no_ fanart (mostly because I suck at it myself), and _no_ friends who know that I'm writing this, so please bear with me. I will not be able to tell you how often I can post and how long this will end up being, but I want to thank you all for your support and reads, they mean a lot.

Derek wants to say that he's proud of himself, but he's really, really not. He steps over a large overturned tree, careful not to stumble into any dragon traps that might have been set earlier before the raid. If he can find this damn thing, maybe he'll feel the sense of accomplishment he's sure his mother will bestow upon him. His siblings will finally look at him with eyes that are not full of pity, and the village will no longer whisper about him—the son of the alpha—not being able to provide for the pack as he should. 

But he can't muster up the emotions necessary to be proud of himself. 

There's something about the idea that he might have just _killed_ something that was living and breathing mere hours ago that makes him feel sick. Boy, he is definitely not meant to be a werewolf. 

Derek hears a small rustle and his head whips in the direction of the noise. Stealthily and quietly—Derek has always been great at being invisible—he rushes towards the noise. He stays hidden but peeks to get a look. He sees a large black silhouette in the morning light, its body glistening with dew. Derek doesn't need to get any closer to know what it is—a dragon. 

Derek resists the urge to jump and whoop. An actual, honest-to-gods dragon! Derek knew he had hit something in the raid last night, had knocked something out of the sky. And it had been a dragon. Upon further investigation, though, Derek realizes that not only is it a dragon, but it's a _Night Fury._

Night Furies are only the meanest, deadliest, fastest dragons around. No one has lived to tell the tale of an encounter with one and no one wants to. It's been said that they can hypnotize you with one look and paralyze you forever with a drop of any of their bodily fluids. Their saliva is venom and their tears are like acid. They're fast, invisible, and so incredibly dangerous. And Derek has actually brought one down. 

It's tangled in the net trap that Derek launched at it last night and Derek can see its chest rising and falling with extremely shallow breaths. At the moment it isn't conscious. Derek gets closer, whipping out his knife. As he approaches it, he sees that he hasn't harmed it too much. There's a shallow gash in its side, but other than that he can't see anything the matter. 

Derek takes a deep breath and raises his knife. If he does this, he'll be a hero. If he does this, no one will call him useless. The words of his family swim in his brain as he battles quietly with himself. 

_"Derek, maybe it might be best if you stay home tonight," Cora says._

_"You're not useless, you're just...different." Laura states firmly._

_"My son's credibility will not be questioned! He will one day learn what he can do for the pack, even if it isn't keeping us safe."_

Derek lifts the knife even higher above his head, about to plunge it into the Night Fury. He knows he's going to do it. Hell, he'll probably be putting it out of his misery. 

And then its eyes open. 

Derek gasps at their glowing caramel brown, at how _human_ they look. When he looks at them, he doesn't see fear or anger in that gaze. He only sees submission. The dragon blinks once and then closes its eyes again, preparing itself for Derek's blade. Derek tightens his grip on the handle and is about to swing downwards, ending this thing's life. He can do it. He knows he can. He can kill the thing that just looked at him with the most defeated look. He can do it. 

Derek lowers the knife and cuts through the rope that entraps the dragon. No, no he can't. He continues cutting the rope, and the dragon opens its eyes again, curious and confused. "You have to get out of here," Derek says, sawing through the last piece. 

The second he finishes, the dragon is on top of him, roaring into his face. Derek reaches for the knife that was knocked from his grasp from the force of the Fury, but it's too far from his hand. The Fury's jaws are wide and Derek is sure that his last kindly act will be just that: his last. The dragon has him pinned down and he's sure he's going to die, sure the dragon is going to bite his head off or bury its teeth into his abdomen, and he actually chokes on air when he feels the weight of the dragon leave him. 

He watches it rush off into the woods and barely thinks about it himself when he turns tail and runs. 

 

Derek puts his head in his hands, because even though the topic of all of their dinner conversations always rotates to _him,_ he's never been bragged about over the table. 

"And then Derek pulled the trigger and the dragon just _dropped!_ Mom, he got it so good that there's no way it could have survived that! It was all tangled and the fire died right in its mouth!" Cora's saying, eyes wide as she retells the story. "It was so awesome. That's when all the howls rang out because everyone _saw_ how awesome it was!" 

"Everyone howled because the fight was over," Derek mumbles into his beef stew.

"So what? Everyone saw your kill!" She says excitedly. 

"Was anyone hurt?" Derek asks his mom, trying to change the subject. 

"A few are being looked at, but no one suffered anything crippling." She pauses. "This is great news, you know. You'll be able to start your training along with the other pups your age. I wasn't sure you'd be ready, but it seems that you've proved me wrong." His mother has a strange glint in her eye, and it takes Derek a moment but he realizes that it's pride. 

He sighs submissively. "When does training begin?" 

"Tomorrow." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Training is a lot different than Derek thought it would be. He's read all the books and knows exactly what dragon is which and what's dangerous about them, but it's almost as if none of that matters when you're out in the arena, one of those things looking down its nose at you. Derek's in this situation, a huge dragon with a thin body and limbs glaring down at him. "A Shivertooth," Derek breathes, then promptly rolls to the side. 

As he's running, he thinks about all the things he's read on this particular dragon. It's arctic—he knows that much. It blasts snow at enemies instead of fire and has spikes covering its body to keep itself safe. But the most dangerous thing about it is its—

"Ah! _Shit!!_ " Derek hears an odd slicing sound after it's already happened. He whips his head around to see Isaac writhing on the ground, holding his leg. There's a deep gash in it, blood spilling everywhere. He's already healing and the dragon is rearing back for another lash when Peter lassos it and shuts it back in its cage. 

"Concentration." He says coldly, walking over to Isaac and helping the boy up. "It's an important part of dealing with dragons. You must concentrate, know their weaknesses, and know your next move. The first rule when dealing with dragons is?" Peter looks between them all. "Anyone?" 

They all stare back at him blankly. Peter shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "What do dragons have that werewolves do not?" He asks them as if they're all five years old. 

"Fire?" 

"Yes, thank you Erica." Peter throws his hands up. "What else?" 

"Wings?" 

"Exactly. And wings means that the first rule is to _look up._ " Peter looks each of the pupils in the eye. Derek looks at them too. Erica, Isaac, Aiden, Ethan, Boyd, Cora. They are composed of the last litters born within the past two seasons. They're small, but mighty, and it's been predicted that they will be a great litter of leaders one day. 

It's kind of hard for Derek to see that future when all they look like to him is a group of terrified, clueless teenagers. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's only a few days after his showdown with the Night Fury when Derek realizes that he left his knife in the woods. Usually he has no attachment to material items, but his father gave him that knife when he was little, and it's the last memento he has left. He's always been fairly good at tracking so he has no trouble finding the place where he met the Fury a few days before. 

His knife is laying right where it flew from him, and as he stoops to pick it up he catches a strong whiff of something he doesn't recognize—it must be the Fury. It's been back here recently. Derek doesn't know what stupid part of his brain tells him to, but he begins following the scent. It's fiery—definitely belongs to a dragon. There's a bit of smoke, but also a hint of apple and some kind of sweet flower. It's a shocking contrast and makes it a bit hard to follow, but Derek has the nose for it. 

He doesn't have to follow it long, though, because once he gets into a canyon-like area the scent just pools around him. He climbs to the bottom and realizes that the rocky walls on all sides are insanely steep, not to mention high. He doesn't think that the Fury lives here, especially since it's too close to their pack. But maybe it's here for a temporary stay. 

If that's the case, Derek knows he'll have to get out of here before it returns. He turns to go, but hears a faint moan coming from the trees that outline the bottom of this odd, circular valley. It's on the other side of the pond that's stationed in the middle, so he walks around it to find the source. 

He's barely into the tree line when he hears something rustling around, and he whips his head to the sound. There, huddled under a bit of brush, is an animal that's way too small to be a dragon. It looks up at him with wide eyes, terrified eyes, and looks almost...human. 

"Hello?" Derek crouches, and the thing pushes itself backwards, hissing. "I'm not going to hurt you." He reaches out. 

"Stay the fuck away from me!" It yells back. Yep, definitely human. 

"I just want to help. There's a dragon that's staying down here and I don't want you to get hurt if it comes back!" Derek says to it, hushing his voice as he reminds himself. 

The guy spits out a laugh, amused. "I don't think it's gonna hurt me." He says drily. 

"Yes it will," Derek says seriously. "This is nothing to laugh about. They just finished pillaging our village. My pack is hurt and they could've died!" Derek knows how young he sounds, but he desperately needs this guy to understand. "Please, come back with me so we can get you to a safe place." 

"Hey dude," the human with the velvet voice says, "don't sweat it. I'm going to be...I'm going to be just fine." 

"You're in pain," Derek accuses, narrowing his eyes. "And my name is not dude. It's Derek. Why don't you come out from there?" 

The guy hesitates. "You don't want me to." 

"Yes, I do," Derek argues. 

"Man, why can't you just let things be? You say you don't like dragons? Well get away before one shows up." 

Derek glares at the kid. "Who the hell do you think you are? Are you from a neighboring pack?" 

The kid's eyes are dancing now. "Something like that." The kid blinks and looks down. "Get out of here." 

"I'm not leaving until you come out." Derek crosses his arms. 

"You're frustratingly stubborn, you know that?" The kids says. He starts to move, and Derek backs up and watches as the kid drags himself on his hands and knees out of the brush. The boy has gelled hair that's kind of spiky, with a long thin neck and long thin fingers. He has moles dotting his cheeks and neck. Everything he's wearing is black: a long, tight black shirt with black straps all over it, black pants with tons of black pockets, a black belt and black rope tied everywhere. His shoes are black boots, sleek and covered in silver buckles. Well okay, his _shoe_ is a black boot. He has a left leg, foot, and boot. His right leg is normal, but he's entirely missing his right boot. Or, to be specific, his entire right foot. Where his foot is supposed to be is instead tied off using his pant leg. 

But the weirdest part about the dude is all of his tattoos. They curl up his neck and stop as they reach his face, but they're black and dangerous looking. Derek bets that if he could see beneath the guy's shirt, he'd find that the tattoos snake all the way up and down his body and legs. That must have been one hell of a torch job. "Asshole," the kid glares. 

"Your leg," Derek says, and the boy looks up at him. 

"Yeah, dumbass, this is why I haven't climbed out of this oversized hole yet." 

"I can help you out. What's your name?" 

"I'm not stupid." He answers. "And anyway, you won't want to help me out, so leave me the fuck alone." 

Derek looks at the kid like he's crazy. "And why not?" 

The boy stares at Derek, eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "What do you know about dragons, Mr. Eyebrows?" 

Derek shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck. "I know everything that they teach in the manuals. I know everything we do about the types of dragons, size, strengths, weaknesses, powers, flight time. Whatever we have, I know. Why?" 

The kid tilts his head slightly. "So you don't know." 

"Don't know what?" Derek asks defensively, crossing his arms. The kids just makes an exasperated sigh. Derek takes time to glare, their eyes lock dangerously, and....oh god. He knows those eyes. Those cinnamon caramel brown eyes....

"You're the Night Fury!" 

"I'm the whoo-what?" The kid—no, the _dragon_ —says, clearly puzzled. His nose and eyebrows scrunch comically. 

"But you're—you're human." Derek states, taking a few steps back even though the dragon is obviously cripplingly injured. 

The kid catches on fast, and knows what Derek is accusing him of. "Well werewolves aren't the only things that shapeshift, dumbass." 

Derek's eyes flash. "Stop calling me that!" 

"Well stop being so incredibly stupid for once!" Derek watches dumbly as the dragon/kid creature uses the side of the rocky wall to pull himself into a standing position. It looks painful. 

"I could kill you. I could kill you right now!" Derek says, brandishing his knife in front of him. His hand shakes a little, and he forces it to keep still. 

"Then do it, asshole!" The dragon yells, balancing on one foot as he throws his long arms out to the side in a stance of vulnerability. "Stick that knife right through my fucking chest! I know what you are," he laughs humorlessly, "you're just a blood-hungry werewolf! You won't stop killing until we're all _dead_ you asshole! So do it! Prove me right!" The kid looks crazy, sweat dripping down his head and his eyes glinting almost feverishly. His next words are a challenge. "Kill me." 

Derek tears his eyes away from the dragon and looks at the knife he has held out in front of him. He looks back at the dragon, who's now wobbling on his one foot, perspiration coating his entire face. "I'm not a monster," Derek says, disgusted, and turns away. 

"So you're gonna leave me here to wait for the cavalry?" The dragon calls as Derek begins scaling the rocks. 

Derek throws a glance over his shoulder. "I'm going to leave you here to die," he responds, and doesn't look back. 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Alright, Derek takes it back. He takes back sparing the damn dragon's life because there is no way in hell he's going to be able to kill the cursed thing now. He's _talked_ to it. Sure, the conversation was hostile at best, but it was still a conversation, and fairly civil. Sort of. 

Derek approaches his mother the next day. "Mom I have a few dragon questions I wanted to ask you before I continued with training." 

"Of course, Derek." Talia Hale sits on their rough leather couch, patting the spot next to her. "What do you want to know?" 

"Are dragons shape shifters?" He asks before he doesn't have the courage to any longer. 

Talia looks at him, confused. "No, not that we know of. Now why would you ask that?" 

Derek shrugs, looking at the ground. "I just thought that maybe because we have a beta form and human form, maybe dragons do too." 

"No. Humans have their human form, we have beta and human forms, and dragons just have their dragon form. Those boundaries have not been overstepped." Derek nods, still not looking at his mother. "Anything else?" 

"Can dragons heal like us?" 

"It's been found that werewolves are the fastest healers. Dragons have magic that can speed the process along, but they cannot heal as fast as us." 

"What about something really crippling, like the loss of a limb or part of a limb?" 

"You mean like an arm or a hand?" Derek nods in confirmation. "Well, I'm not really sure." She has a small wrinkle between her brows as she says it. "I don't think so, but I'm not sure." 

Derek sighs. "There's a lot we don't know about dragons." 

"They're lonesome, feral creatures. They can't communicate with us and we cannot with them. I fear this vicious circle of violence will continue until one of our races is dead. Only then may the fighting be guaranteed to stop." 

Derek feels a little guilty not telling her, but keeping the Night Fury to himself seems like a good idea. "Thanks, Mom." 

"Anytime Derek. Now go to training, we can't have you being late!" 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter seems to have a thing for calling them idiots. 

"Idiots!" He yells as Erica and Boyd get thrown on their asses by the dragon's tail. "Now what kind of dragon is this!?" He yells at the kids, who are circling the damn thing. 

"Windstriker," Derek grunts out as he dodges the spiky tail. 

"Exactly! And what is their method of attack?" He's still yelling at them from his safe perch above. 

"Hot air!" Cora yells as the dragon demonstrates on Isaac, causing his clothes to catch fire. Ethan shoves him to the ground and kicks the fire out of him. Aiden helps him up. 

"So how do you defeat one?" Peter asks. Derek thinks furiously. What defeats hot air? He looks around quickly and before he can even think he's sprinting towards the water trench. There's a few buckets, so maybe he can just—

Derek screams as the dragon's spikes impale him, and he goes flying before hitting the hard log walls of the arena. "Derek!" He hears Cora scream, but she's too busy running from the dragon to do much else. His vision swims as his body scrambles to heal itself. He drags himself to a standing position, feels the blood trickling down his back from the holes the spikes left. He painfully makes his way to the water trench again, determined to finish this hellish training session and wipe the stupid smirk from his uncle's face. 

He fills up the bucket, and he can feel the holes in his back closing up. With a bucket filled with water he rushes to where Ethan and Aiden are struggling to confuse the dragon with loud noises and quick movements. The dragon spots an opening when Ethan turns his back and opens its mouth to spew hot air: this thing is fighting for its life, and it knows it. Derek quickly takes his bucket and hurls the entire thing into the dragon's open mouth, not willing to let there be the off chance that the water won't make it far enough. The dragon chokes on the wooden bucket and spits it out, then turns its angry head to Derek and opens its jaws wide. Derek gasps, cringing away from it, and—nothing. Nothing happens. 

The dragon looks as surprised as Derek feels, and he can hear Erica and Cora whooping in joy behind him. Ethan, Aiden, and Boyd take the moment to herd the confused dragon back into its cage, slamming the door shut with a satisfying _clunk._

Peter hops down from his viewing perch, smirking. "Took you all long enough." 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Derek must have a thing for people calling him an asshole and a dumbass repeatedly because he can only stay away for a few days before returning to the weird, rocky prison that holds the Night Fury. 

"Welcome back." He hears, and whips his head around to see the boy— _dragon,_ he reminds himself—lying in a small shelter behind him, at the edge of the forested area. The shelter is messy and small, and Derek is left to marvel at it and wonder how the dragon managed to build it despite his crippling injury. If it rains, Derek knows that the dragon is absolutely going to get soaked—but at the moment he's sheltered from winds. There's a sarcastic twist to his mouth, but the boy looks paler, thinner. His eyes are sunken and there's dark circles under them. "Disappointed?" Derek crinkles his eyebrows, confused. "That I'm not dead, dumbass. Disappointed?" His irises glint. 

Surprisingly, he's not, and he shakes his head. "Have you eaten?" Derek finds himself asking, and he scratches his arm absentmindedly. 

The dragon wets his lips quickly, then shakes his head. "I haven't felt up to...scavenging." He admits. His eyes are still guarded though as he takes in Derek. "Where's your knife today, big guy?" 

"In my pocket," Derek answers dumbly. There's something about the kid that makes him _want_ to tell the truth. 

"Well at least you're not completely stupid." The thing grumbles. He looks up at Derek, uninterested. "You gonna kill me?" Derek shakes his head. "Well then can you at least use that nice knife of yours and whittle me a spear? I seemed to have lost my knife and I know for a fact that this pond has fish in it." The kid rummages around in the leaves behind him and produces a fairly sharp stick. "Here, I've already got it started." He tosses it at Derek, and it lands at the werewolf's feet. 

Derek picks it up and examines it curiously. "This is already plenty sharp. Any sharper and the tip is gonna break off." Derek looks up at the guy. "How did you do this?" 

"A rock," the dragon glares. "And if it's so great, why can't I spear any fish?" 

"You're probably not strong enough right now," Derek muses, looking at it. "It's a nice spear." He tosses it back and the dragon catches it in midair before it can sail over his head. 

"Dammit," it grumbles, groping around for something else. Derek watches as the dragon produces a canteen and takes a quick sip from it before glaring back up at him. "So what did you come back here for if you're not going to kill me?" 

Derek shrugs and decides to take a seat on a nearby log. "What happened to your foot?" 

"Well after I was so kindly shot out of the goddamn sky, I free fell. The netting ripped part of my tail which, in human form, is the equivalent to my foot. So I've been missing this thing since the fight." Derek doubts that the dragon would have told him all that if he had anyone else here. But since it's only Derek, the dragon has to rant to whomever would listen. 

"Will it grow back?" 

The dragon looks tired as he rubs his face. "No, dumbass," he says, but this time it's missing its usual bite. "My foot's gone forever." 

"Oh. I'm sorry," Derek offers, meaning it. 

"What are you sorry for? You should be rejoicing and celebrating." 

He shrugs. "It still sucks." 

The dragon sighs. "That it does." He bites his lip, contemplating something. "How...how long has it been since the fight?" 

Derek counts the days in his head. "Seven days since that night," he says. 

" _Fuck_ ," the dragon groans, setting his head in his palm. "My dad is probably out of his mind with worry. They probably all think I'm dead." He pauses. "Well, I pretty much am dead, but God, they at least deserve a body." He looks up at Derek, a small tint of hatred and another small hint of despair in his eyes. "If you come back down here and you find me dead, can you promise me that you'll take my body up there? Put me someplace somebody will find me? My dad..." The dragon rips his head to the side, swallowing, and decidedly not looking at the guy he's potentially begging with. "My dad needs to know that I'm not living my days out in a camp, or captured, or think that I abandoned him." 

Derek's absolutely astonished by the sheer amount of emotion in the dragon's voice and wastes no time thinking about a response. "Yeah, sure." 

The dragon takes a minute. "Thanks," he says. 

Derek continues sitting on his log, mind at war with itself. The dragon in front of him is supposed to be the enemy. But this dragon has a father, has a family. A family that's worried. Derek doesn't want to hurt him, actually wants nothing more than to be rid of him, but what are you supposed to say to someone who's already accepted their imminent death?


	2. In Which A Werewolf & A Dragon Become Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek continues to train, Stiles continues to be his shitty self, and they eventually become kind of cordial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all to the moon and back (haha, werewolves) for all of your amazing comments and feedback!  
> Again, I have no betas or friends watching this fic for me, so if you see any mistakes please point them out!  
> I also wanted to say that every chapter will be about 4,000 words long, which ends up being about 40-50 iBook pages long. These chapters will be consistent in length (unless I seriously have no time or too much time) so be prepared and please don't complain too much! Thanks!
> 
> TO EVERYONE WHO HAD SPACING PROBLEMS: REFRESH.

“What the fuck is Peter thinking!?” Cora whispers furiously to her brother from where they’re hiding. 

“Shut up! I can’t think with you griping in my ear about what a dick our uncle is,” Derek’s quick to shoot back. Cora stifles a laugh but gets the hint and lets them sit in silence for a moment. What they’re facing is a gronkle, and it wouldn’t be such a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that they weren’t allowed anything but shields. A gronkle is known for its laziness, but also for its vicious teeth and large jaws. Derek knows that it must have a short attack range, with how small its legs, tail, and wings are, but how they’re supposed to defeat it without weapons, he has no clue. “Cora, c’mon,” Derek grabs her wrist so they can get a high vantage point.

“What plan do you have in mind?” She asks, and he can hear the smirk in her voice.

“Not sure,” he huffs, climbing up one of the spiky walls of the arena. Once they scale it to the top they let their legs dangle off the edge. Derek sees Isaac by the gardens, Ethan and Aiden behind a maze wall, and Boyd and Erica currently running from the gronkle. Unlike the fights before, everyone is wolfed out, which is probably not a good sign. 

“Derek, you’d better know soon. You’re the only one who’s actually read all those damn books other than Boyd, and he looks a little busy.”

Derek has to look away. Somehow, when everyone’s counting on you, it becomes much harder to think. Derek knows that gronkles use fire power and their large range of wing motion to get the edge on weres. But their fire power only lasts for six shots before they have to reload. But their method of reloading is eating rocks, so they become dangerous very quickly. But then again, if the rocks are their strength….”Got it,” Derek says, hopping down. 

“What do you ‘got’?” Cora asks, landing softly beside him. 

Derek hurries towards the gardens, letting his fangs grow out and feeling his face shift. “Ever heard of too much of a good thing?” 

“Um, yeah?”

“Boyd! Erica!” Derek waves them over to the garden wall, where the twins are currently cowering. “We’ve got a plan. Eating rocks is what gives gronkles firepower, yeah? Their stomachs turn the rock into lava balls and such. Well we’re going to use our garden rock walls to feed him.”

“We’re giving it more ammo!?” Erica shrieks. 

“No, we’re overheating it,” Boyd smiles, white fangs overtaking a dark face as he understands the plan.

“Exactly.” Derek says. “We just have to get it over here and waste all its fire shots. Hopefully it will see all the rocks and think it needs more to overpower all of us, but in doing so will actually overpower itself. We need to make sure that we all work at it, though, and don’t let the thing get a shot at you. Fire is the hardest wound to come back from.” 

“Speaking of all of us, where’s Isaac?” Cora asks. As if he heard her, his scream ricochets off of the arena walls.

“Dammit Isaac,” Ethan grumbles, running off towards the sound.

“Ethan, come back! We’re stronger in numbers, and we need to lure the dragon to this place!” Derek yells after him.

“Isaac and I will get it over here! Just be ready!” He throws over his shoulder.

“I don’t trust him to do it by himself,” Aiden says, then follows his brother to Isaac.

“Wonder twins are at it again,” Erica rolls her large eyes, wiping at her eyeliner with a single clawed finger. She only manages to smudge it more, but no one comments. 

“Coming in, high speed!” They hear Isaac before they see him, and in time with the barely audible wingbeats he comes barreling out from the maze of the arena. “What’s the plan what’s the plan?” He falls into Cora’s arms, gasping for breath. 

“Get him to eat a lot of rocks!” Erica has time to spit out as the gronkle crashes into view. The twins are barely in front of it, yelling absolute nonsense as they rush towards their comrades. 

“How many shots has it used?” Derek yells at them. 

“Two!” Isaac screams back.

“No, three!” Aiden recalculates.

“Make that four!” Cora screams as she tackles Erica to the ground, both of them barely missing a molten ball of lava. Erica’s hair is on fire, which would actually be funny (since she’s normally described as a hothead) if they weren’t in this situation.

Derek grimaces. Two more shots, and the gronkle seems to know it. It’s circling them cautiously, and eyeballing the rock garden walls. Perfect. “We have to make it use the rest of its shots!” Derek yells, frustrated.

“Make some noise, if we can confuse it, maybe it will think we’re more dangerous!” Boyd offers, and the twins have no problem immediately banging their shields against the rocky edges of the garden walls. Erica and Cora butt their shields together, aiding in the effort, and Isaac begins shouting nonsense in its general direction. The noise has its desired effect, and Derek rushes the dragon, swerving at the last second, and making it think that it’s under attack. The creature spins as fast as it can, shooting its fifth fireball at the air.

“One more!” Isaac says, and everyone immediately doubles their efforts at the prospect of this being over. The dragon fires its last shot and they all cheer. 

“Quick! Steer clear of the rock walls! We want him to—“ Derek stops in mid-sentence when Peter jumps down and wrangles the gronkle with heavy chains back into its enclosure. The students stare at him with empty eyes, confused and baffled.

“Well done, you would have survived the battle.” He says.

“But we didn’t defeat it.” Cora says helplessly, letting her shield flop to her side.

“You didn’t need to. An unarmed dragon cannot survive our regiments.” Peter walks right in front of the haggled kids. “Once a dragon has no more firepower, it can easily be overpowered and defeated. As is the same with a dragon who cannot fly. A grounded dragon is a dead dragon.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

 

“So why aren’t you dead?” Derek mumbles, mostly to himself, as he watches the Night Fury drag himself pitifully to the pond. Derek is observing the creature from above, out of sight. It’s been nine days since the night of the attack, and the Fury is looking more dead by the hour. He cannot catch himself food and it’s been a long time since Derek has seen him be able to pull himself into a sitting, let alone standing, position. The most he can do by himself is drag himself painfully to the water and then back to his shelter, take a few sips of the pond water, and pass out. The dragon’s human skin is cracked from sun exposure, and half the time he can’t even drag himself back to his own shelter. It’s pitiful, really, and Derek convinces himself that that’s the only reason why he has a basket of food and medical supplies with him today.

“What…what are you doing?” The dragon asks when he sees Derek crouching down next to him. 

“Don’t freak. And stop moving, it can’t be easy.” Derek kneels and digs in his basket for food. “Here, take this,” he hands the dragon a loaf of bread and a canteen of fresh water. He takes them, but stares at them mistrustfully, as if they’re too good to be true. “Just eat. You look like death.”

“I feel like it, too,” the dragon jokes weakly. He sniffs it before biting viciously into the loaf. He chews furiously as he watches Derek with interest. 

“May I?” Derek gestures towards the dragon’s leg, and he just shrugs, throwing his hands up in the air. 

“Whatever, I’m dead anyways.”

Derek unties the knot in the fabric and immediately cringes away. “It smells absolutely awful!” Derek says.

“Rank, isn’t it? It’s infected.”

“No duh!” Derek says, rolling the pant leg up. The dragon winces but doesn’t say anything. The nub is…disgusting. The dragon wasn’t exaggerating: the thing is definitely infected. It’s red, swollen, and red streaks up from the infected area to healthy parts of his leg. There’s pus drainage and Derek crinkles his nose. Derek rifles through the basket again and produces an antibiotic cream made by Deaton. Not only does it include modern medicine, but also magical healing properties that might just save the rest of the limb. When Derek presses a hand to the nub, he immediately recoils at how hot it is to the touch. He shakes his head and tries again, only to feel a familiar pressing sensation of pain just waiting to enter his body. Derek has been able to do this with other werewolves in the infirmary. Back when he wasn’t allowed to go out and help with the raids, his mother used to take him there and ask him to help her take away the brave soldiers’ pain. Derek, of course, had been eager to help in any way he could, and he would take so much pain from dying patients he would feel dizzy himself. He had once almost killed himself doing it for a soldier that was seconds away from dying, and that was when Talia had banned him from the infirmary.

Derek doesn’t know if he can take a dragon’s pain, but it’s so fresh and sharp he knows he has to try. The veins in his arm pulse black and the dragon tries to whip away as he screams. “What are you doing!? Stop!” Derek just grips harder, knowing that he’s much stronger than the weakened creature. “St…op…” the dragon sighs, and Derek knows that he’s feeling the pain leak out of him. “What are you doing?” He asks dreamily.

“Sharing your pain,” Derek says, and winces as he feels the throb in his own leg. “Your body is so hot.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” the dragon slurs, waving a hand weakly. “Dragons have high body…normal… temperatures.” You can tell he’s losing it, the relief of his injury letting him tap into his exhaustion. Derek feels it when he finally passes out, and gently removes his hand from the injury. With the dragon safely asleep, Derek takes out a bandage and winds up the wound properly, not looking too closely because seriously, the thing is gross. He quickly finds the other points of pain: the dragon’s stomach and elbows. His elbows are absolutely wrecked, bloody and sod-filled, and Derek cleans them best he can. Then he moves onto the dragon’s stomach, which is pale and desperately thin. 

Derek was right before: there are delicately dangerous tattoos winding all over his body. They’re pitch black; sharp and edgy with what looks likes black blood dripping from every tip. They curl around his limbs, cradling the dragon. Derek lightly touches one with his finger and as he traces it, it begins to glow a bright blue. He quickly retracts his hand as if being burned, but the sensation hadn’t been painful…it had been pleasing. Derek’s careful not to touch another as he cleans up the scratches—the ones he left—on the dragon’s stomach. They’re not incredibly deep and will heal soon, hopefully.

Derek casts another wistful glance at the tattoos, then gently rolls the torn t-shirt back down the dragon’s chest. It’s odd to look at him. His already porcelain face is even paler, but it’s damaged by the sun: tattoos standing stark against white body. His usually twisted face is smoothly calm, causing Derek’s rigid muscles to unclench. The kid looks just that: a kid. Derek realizes that the dragon doesn't look a day over sixteen, and might even be fifteen by the way his boyish mouth flops open with childish exhaustion. 

His eyes are moving fiercely behind his eyelids, but Derek can tell that he's still sleeping by his steadily slow heartbeat. He must be dreaming. The kid's sweating like crazy, though, and even though Derek knows he claimed that dragons have high body temperatures anyway, he actually flinches from the hotness of the dragon's skin. The guy is obviously suffering from a fever, probably caused by the infection. Derek has only seen this done with gravely wounded werewolves, but he takes a strip of cloth from the basket and wets it with cool, clean water from his canteen. Then he gently dabs it all over the boy's forehead. His eyes slow and then stop at the temperature change, and his stiff muscles relax at the comfort. Derek lays a hand on the boy's neck and takes the small bit of pain he's feeling at the moment away before leaving the basket nearby and hurrying off so he won't be late for dinner. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Derek finds no time to get back to the dragon for another week because of Peter's unforgivingly frustrating lessons. He'll wake them up in the middle of the night and walk all of his pupils through an organized dragon attack; he'll unleash them into the south woods and track them by scent, attacking them with his enormous claws at any given time; he'll make them climb to the tops of large buildings (much to Talia's disdain) and practice their swordsmanship while maintaining their balance. 

The lessons aren't all about the physical aspect of dragon slaughtering, though. There are multiple times in which Derek has the upper hand because of all the books he's memorized over the years, not to mention his fascination with weaponry. One time Peter makes each trainee draw a map of their town and the surrounding areas and create a defensive plan for a dragon attack. To his own disappointment, Derek's hypothetical pack was unable to defend itself and its town. To be fair, though, no one was able to save the entire pack. 

Peter has the weirdest methods Derek has ever seen in a teacher, not to mention his painfully obvious personality issues and probably pedophilic quirks. Instead of praise, Peter thanks them for not being "as stupid as usual," and he never says please unless he's being sarcastic. He'll stand a little too close to the girls in the pack. He makes the least qualified student demonstrate something they've only heard of and never done before (namely, Derek) in front of everyone else and leaves them stranded to be ridiculed at. And, most alarmingly, he almost never helps with the dragons he lets loose on the kids in the arena, not even when it looks like they're losing. 

Derek's never had as many nightmares and never feared for his own life or self-preservation techniques so much as he does now. 

It's an odd thing to consider valuable. 

Lessons are, amazingly, cancelled about a week after Derek last saw the dragon because Boyd is getting a sister. Wolf pups aren't born as often as they should be, so they party while Boyd's mom delivers the pup. The village is full of celebrations and food and fun, and Derek finds it no problem to grab some of the awesome party food and steal away to see the dragon. It's not that the partying and festivities aren't fun, but Derek can guess that the dragon can hear some of it and at least deserves an explanation as to what might be going on. 

Surprisingly, when Derek gets there, the dragon is looking better. His face isn't sweaty or pale and his arm isn't clutching his abdomen or thigh because of odd tremors or anything anymore. Derek is most surprised, though, when the dragon drags himself to his foot and bows as deeply as his awkward standing position will allow. "What was that?" Derek asks curiously, watching as the boy lowers himself back down to the ground and onto his nest of leaves, grass, and moss. 

The boy sighs and must be feeling reluctant to explain his actions. "It's..." He lets out a breath. "It's a way for dragons to show our utmost respect to someone. You...you saved my life, and thus I feel obligated to bow to you." 

Derek is actually speechless. He never knew that dragons did such civil things (but well, they are human, aren't they?) and he can't believe one just bowed out of respect to _him._

"I also want to thank you for the fishing wire. And food." The dragon isn't looking at him anymore, just talking to the forest floor, but Derek knows that this is a big moment. He feels like he should say something, anything, about how honored he is.

"I brought you food from our party," is what comes out instead. He sets the basket down next to the dragon and sits himself on his log a few feet away. "My packmate Boyd is getting a sister, so we don't have lessons today and we're all celebrating." 

The dragon chuckles. "We do the same thing. It's rare for a dragon egg to not become smashed or infertile before it has a chance to be born." 

Derek nods. "It's hard for werewolves to have kids. They can only procreate with their mates...it gets hard when people can't find their mates or their mates are the same sex." They sit in silence. "Could I have your name?" Derek suddenly asks. 

The dragon pales, but blood quickly rushes over his face again. "You can, uh, you can call me Stiles." 

Derek nods. "Stiles," he says, trying it off of his tongue. It's nice to say. "Stiles the Night Fury." Saying it like that doesn't really make the dragon sound scary or ferocious. Derek can only picture lanky, hostile Stiles and not so much the black night fury he turns into. 

"Yeah, I was meaning to ask you: what all this Night Fury stuff about? I hear it sometimes and I'm confused is that what you call dragons?" 

Derek shakes his head. "No, that's what we call _you._ Unless there's another dragon that looks like you?" 

"There used to be, a long time ago," Stiles says, "but he died a while back, even before I was born." 

"Oh. Well, you're called a Night Fury. We classify dragons by their characteristics and species and such." Stiles just chuckles, shaking his head. "What?" 

"Werewolves have always been seen as kind of...barbaric. You guys usually communicate in grunts during battle, and even though you speak our language a lot of our teachers believe that you're stupid. Obviously they're wrong." 

Derek feels a little offended. "Well, obviously. We have very civilized ways of dealing with things. We're not animals." 

"But you think we are, don't you?" Stiles isn't accusatory when he says it. "You seemed very surprised when I told you that dragons shapeshift." 

"Yeah," Derek admits, face heating a little. "We don't think you're stupid, since your attacks are obviously planned and thought-out, but anyone in my village would probably laugh at you if you went up to them and told them you were a dragon." 

"Good to know," Stiles says. "Definitely won't be visiting your village anytime soon." 

The silence is awkward. Well at least Derek thinks so, but he's usually forcing normal conversations into awkward silences so how could he ever know the difference between a comfortable silence and an awkward one? "Are you—" Derek starts, then stops, clears his throat, and begins again. "Are you feeling better?" 

"Doesn't hurt as much, fever's gone. I can stand." The dragon looks at the werewolf. "I'm definitely better." 

"I uh, I hope you won't use this opportunity to shift into a dragon and eat me during our conversations," Derek says, hands clasped nervously as he bites his bottom lip and stares at he forest floor in front of Stiles's feet. 

To his surprise, the dragon bursts out laughing. "I don't see how I could, after you saved me and all. There's got to be some kind of moral rule book that states that you can't kill the person who saved your life numerous times." He laughs again. "Nah man, I won't kill you. I don't really like killing." 

Derek wrinkles his brow in confusion. "But doesn't every dragon like killing? Isn't that why you do it?" 

Stiles looks up like _Derek's_ the crazy one. "No way! I thought werewolves liked killing!" 

Derek shakes his head immediately. "My mom's been looking for a way to stop the violence ever since it started, which was long before she had a say in anything." 

"Well shit," Stiles says. "No one wants to kill anyone, but we're still killing each other anyway." 

"I wonder why that is," Derek muses. 

"Yeah, wonder why," is what echoes back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wait!" Isaac screams, ducking as a large shield is hurled at his head. His bucket of water sloshes over and spills completely in his struggle. 

"The Hideous Zippleback will not _wait_ for you to be ready, Mr. Lahey," Peter drawls, watching lazily from his perch that Derek is seriously beginning to hate. "You must douse the correct head with your bucket of water and be able to get away." 

Cora snarls at the dragon, quick to throw her water on a head, but the dragon just smirks and gurgles out immense amounts of poisonous air. It has a tint of wolfsbane—enough to confuse and fog the mind, but not enough to knock out or kill. "Damn it!" She cries, quick and sharp, and that causes the dragon to loll its head around, obviously hurt by the screech. 

They all hear it when Aiden shouts and suddenly both him and Ethan are doused in water, spluttering and glaring at each other. Erica throws her water at the dragon win a shriek when it sneaks up on her, but her aim isn't the best and it splashes all over its green scales instead. Boyd has his bucket firmly in his hands until he hears Erica shrieking again, and he tosses the entire thing at one of the heads—hitting it with the wood, but not the water. 

Boyd is smart—Derek knows that—and once he realizes only Derek has his bucket left he follows the dragon as well as he can through the thick smoke. Erica is flanking one side of the dragon, the twins on the other, and they're all trying to figure out whether it's the left or the right one that can set the poisonous gas alight with its electricity. There's chasing it towards Derek, leading it so he can use their last bucket on the creature. Derek hears a crackle behind him and jumps around, just in time to see a snake-like head slither into view from the depths of the purple fog. Derek backs up, but he's met with a wall. It's the same if he looks to his left, and he can see a silhouette of the second head to his right. 

It's almost smiling at him, and he knows that it knows that he's cornered. Derek grips his bucket tightly, determined that this isn't the end. Derek sees dragons in a different light ever since meeting Stiles: he knows that there's an actual person behind those eyes, waiting to shift back into a coherent human. It's just trying to survive. The dragon eyes Derek's bucket and his grip and he can see the submission in its eyes as its jaws crackle with electricity. It's the correct head. The second head comes into view, warily watching the exchange between the werewolf and its other half, knowing that its time is through. One head nudges the other, the electrical one opens its jaws, and—

Derek throws his bucket to the ground. The water spills out, wetting the dirt ground and pooling at his feet, pooling everywhere. The dragons look surprised, and Derek drags one leg out behind him, as far as it will go, and bows deeply to the two dragons that inhibit one body. His arms are outstretched to keep his balance, and he knows that he's more than vulnerable in this state, but the dragons were willing to die honorably, to give up by each other's sides, even though they didn't know that they weren't fighting to the death. Derek finds that worthy of his respect. 

It also has the reaction he intended, which is such visible surprise that the dragons stumble backwards—almost crushing Boyd—in their absolute awe at the werewolf. Derek watches confusedly as they trip over each other's feet and twist their necks until they can't even move anymore, their main concern no longer their lives but just getting another glance at the werewolf that showed them _respect._

Peter uses this to harness the dragons and shove them into their cage, barring it with a loud clank. "You all are lucky Derek was there to save your asses, otherwise you would all be _dead._ Believe it or not, I will not be here for you during battle to drag the big bad dragons away. You will need to kill them, and today's lesson showed hoe incapable of that you all are. Whether it was stupidity, fear, hastiness, or overprotectiveness, you all wasted your water buckets for stupid reasons. Derek, however, let the beast think he was cornered before getting the job done. That's what it takes to be a member of the pack. That's doing your part." Peter claps Derek on the shoulder, rubbing his pride on the side of Derek's neck. He knows that the pack will be able to smell it for thee rest of the day, and tries to avoid the glares the other teenagers are giving him.

It's ironic, really, how Peter is saying that he's the only one who would be able to kill a dragon and yet he's the only one who's let one live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback, comments, and kudos are _always_ appreciated! Thanks guys!


	3. In Which A Werewolf & A Dragon Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles actually become...friends? Also, Scott cameo and a cute little dance. PLUS: Laura finds her mate! (Not as exciting as it sounds).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! I'm loving this chapter and even more in love with the next one!

"Hey there, dumbass." Derek hears the greeting even before he's all the way down the rocks. 

"Hello, Stiles," he sighs out, long-suffering. Derek thought that once they became friendlier the less-than-friendly nicknames would go away, but apparently that's how Stiles expresses fondness. Derek should be touched. Really. 

"Hey so I've been thinking," —Derek hates the sound of this already— "what if we write a book together?" 

"A what?" Out of all the things Derek was expecting Stiles to say, that is definitely not one of them. He likes to read books and all, but _write_ one? With a _dragon?_

For the past few weeks, Derek has been visiting Stiles and bringing him food on an almost daily basis, and during these visits they've really started to get to know each other. It was odd and awkward at first, full of many wrong steps and awkward silences. Once Stiles had even thrown his empty water canteen at Derek's head and used a little magic to project it right into his temple. But as his visit grew longer and Stiles grew a bit more trusting, the boys found that they actually don't mind spending time with each other. 

Derek knows that Stiles loves fried potatoes, has two best friends named Lydia and Allison, and is, and he quotes, "the most colorful black dragon you'll ever meet." In turn, Stiles has been able to drag stories from Derek, mostly about the antics that he gets up to with Cora and Laura, and used to with Aslan. He'll ask Derek about the few friends he's mentioned—Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and the twins—just to have Derek deadpan that he hates them. Stiles had just laughed and threw an empty tin can at him. 

"A book," Stiles reasons, his voice slightly higher than normal. "Y'know, to record our interactions and prove that dragons and werewolves get along." 

Derek just shakes his head and sits heavily on the log that he's properly dubbed as his. "No one would listen to a book, Stiles. But...I've been wondering...what are your tattoos for?" 

Stiles looks a little relived at the question, which Derek files away. "I'll only tell you if you promise to tell another story about Cora and Laura." His eyes glint cattily. Derek waves him off with an _of course._ "Alright. So every dragon has tattoos all over their body, and these are visual representations of their magic. So you see how mine are black? Well, my dragon is as well. The tattoos manifest when we're young and learning magic, so they are both a product of and a beacon for it. So for example, if I were to use my magic—" Stiles pauses to wave a hand at the ground, and suddenly a single red flower pokes out from the dirt— "then my tattoos would flow depending on the exertion. See?" He makes the petals bloom and pulls up the sleeve to his shirt, revealing his blue-glowing tattoos. As soon as the magic stops, the blue fades away and leaves only black ink. 

"My dad, he's a..." Stiles reaches over his leg to grab the tiny, worn book Derek gave him, complete with personal sketches and notes. The front is bound leather, the words "Dragonpedia" scratched into the front. Stiles flips to a dog-eared page and mouths the name before saying it. "A Bewilderbeast," he finally spits out. 

Derek's pretty sure his eyes are popping out of his head. "He's a _Bewilderbeast!?"_

Stiles shrugs, eyebrows crinkled like they do when he's confused by Derek's expressions or movements. "Yeah. He's kind of in charge of our dragon herd." 

Derek squints his eyes. "I've heard that they're like the alpha version of dragons. Is...is he the one ordering the attacks on us?" 

Stiles's eyes fly wide open. "Oh goddess no! My dad is a peaceful leader!" 

"Then I don't understand. If you—"

"Please," Stiles says, and it sounds so broken Derek's voice dies right in his throat. "I'll tell you about it, just...not right now." Derek purses his lips, but nods agreeably. Stiles perks up again in a way that makes Derek either want to smile or hold down his animated arms. "Anyway, like I was saying, my dad is a Bewilderbeast, and his tattoos are a lot thicker and they're a deep brown. I guess he's like an earthy version of this snowy one you have described in here." 

"Was your mother a Night Fury?" Derek asks, realizing that Stiles has never mentioned a mother. 

The dragon gives him a crooked, broken smile. "Nah, she was a Death Song." His long fingers flip to another dog-eared page. They trace over the picture Derek had drawn. "She was beautiful, and she'd sing to me every night to help me get to sleep. She's the one that taught me that being the only dragon of my species—a Night Fury, if you will—isn't something to be ashamed of." He swallows and when he looks up at Derek, his eyes are dark and shielded. "She died in an attack when I was nine." 

"My dad...he died in one too. A dragon set fire to our house and he ran in to get us all out, and he was going back in to get my brother...and then they didn't come out." Derek stares at the ground, using all of his mental willpower to not replay that awful scene in his mind. 

A hand comes up over one of his own and squeezes. Derek doesn't look up, he physically can't at the moment, but he's pretty sure Stiles doesn't either. He doesn't know how long they stay that way, holding hands and sharing their pain. 

"Do you...do you want to hear that story now?" Derek asks softly, able to glance up quickly. 

"I'd love that," Stiles responds, and listens with a smile as Derek talks about the time Cora and Laura once ruined their mom's sheets the first time they found her stash of chocolate, the two boys' hands still twined together. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

As the Alpha's only son, Derek is required to attend many meetings and do many things that he would otherwise flee from. When his mother utters the words "True Alpha," he audibly groans and drops the fork he's eating with, defeated. 

"What?" She asks, turning innocently to him. He gives her a look, because _she knows_. "He's not that bad, Derek. He's barely younger than you, only a few months." She comes up behind him and squeezes his shoulder. "I need you to be there for this meeting. It's very important that we discuss Scott's future in our pack, should he and his mother decide to stay." 

"Fine, fine," Derek grumbles, sending the scowl that he would never dare flash at his mother to his dinner plate. 

"Tomorrow then. You'll miss lessons, but it won't matter. I've heard that you're quite the fast learner, son." Her warm hand is comforting, but increasingly heavy. "I'm very proud of you." 

Surprisingly, Derek feels tears well up in his eyes, and he furiously wishes that they would disappear. To he honest, he's only heard his mother say those words with such conviction to his sisters and older brother, but now they're directed at _him,_ and for what? For using tips he's been learning from Stiles to peacefully send the dragons back into their cages. It seems kind of unfair. 

"Go to sleep, you look worried. Maybe a day off will do you some good." She brushes her hand along his cheek, lingering before heading off to her study, no doubt for last-minute lunch planning. When she goes to bed, Derek can hear her breathing soften almost the second her head hits the pillow. 

Derek, on the other hand, twists and turns as his mind goes in circles, only settling down for sleep when his thoughts cycle back to Stiles. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The McCalls were first brought into the pack when a young female omega came crawling into their territory with a five-year-old pup latched onto her leg. She revealed herself as a healer and a victim to her mate's betrayal. She left him when he maimed the pup in a fit of rage, running with her son the first moment she could get away. Derek's mother took the two in, shifting them into faithful betas. That is, until the pup transformed into a True Alpha about a little over a year ago after years of marvelous battle tactics and leading positions. To say Talia was surprised when it happened is an understatement. One of her most submissive, most obedient, and most kind betas is a True Alpha. 

Scott's natural qualities make him the best possible candidate in Talia's eyes, obviously. Scott would never challenge Talia for her pack, and he seems perfectly happy to not recruit any betas for himself. He still draws power from their pack and they provide the young alpha and mother with protection. 

Talia raps on the McCall's door, and you can hear a scramble from inside and a "Scott, can you get the door?" 

There's more scrambling before a boy with a curly dark mop of hair smiles at the two with a lopsided grin. "Derek! Alpha Hale! It's great to see you guys! Please come in!" 

Derek's never really been fond of the werewolf. Scott's nice, but he's almost _too_ nice. He likes to talk in exclamation points and uses his puppy eyes a lot. He's only a few months younger than Derek, but he's not allowed to join in their training so Derek doesn't really know him on a level other than a political one. 

Scott, on the other hand, obviously feels differently. 

"I'm so glad you could make it! It's been a while since we could all just sit and talk. Just sit here, my mom's almost done with lunch." Scott gestures towards one of their couches, and the Hales comply. He sits across from them and leans excitedly on his knees with his elbows, head perched in his hands. "So Derek, how's training? I've heard that you're doing great." 

Derek shrugs, pursing his lips. "It's fine. Hard." 

Scott nods, not unperturbed in the slightest. "Yeah, it really sounds like it! I'm really sorry I can't join you and all, but..." He trails off and shrugs, and Derek mirrors the gesture. 

"Lunch!" Mrs. McCall calls from the dining room, and the three werewolves all stand and join her. They each take a respective seat at the table and watch as Scott's mom and only official pack member sets out a tray of sandwiches. "It's so lovely to see you both here today," she says pleasantly. Mrs. McCall is a comely woman, with the same dark hair and Latino features as her son. "I was very excited to hear that you two were coming over today." 

"Well thank you for allowing us into your home, Melissa." Talia says. It's really just a formality, because really everyone knows you'll get ripped to shreds if you decline an alpha's presence. Melissa just nods submissively and sits down at her respective spot at the table. Derek doesn't miss the playful smile she shoots at Scott before she bows her head to eat, though. 

"So Scott," Talia begins, not one for useless small talk, " you have been such an asset to our army over the years, and I would make you a general of not for the fear of tarnishing your True Alpha status." Scott nods, shoving part of a sandwich into his mouth. "But since you have shown skill in navigation and tactics, I would like to formally offer you a position as our head peace-maker and negotiator." 

Scott almost chokes on the other half of his sandwich. "Wow. Uh," he quickly gulps it down. "What would this title ensue?" He asks politely. His eyes are bugging out of their sockets. 

"You would be in charge of missions to other nations, all peace negotiations, and you would be on the board that decides whether or not to wage war against another pack or declare them as allies." 

"So basically you're using my judge of character as a weapon?" Scott asks. 

The question throws the alpha off guard, but she recovers and nods, deciding the simple truth is better than a carefully worded one. "Exactly." 

Scott's face splits into a smile. "Awesome. Way to use your resources. It's so cool to see the real alpha work." His words make Talia's wolf preen, but Derek can tell that she's hiding it as much as she can. 

"I'm very glad you're happy with this turnout," Talia says regally, but anyone can tell that she actually is pleased. 

"Oh definitely, Talia. This is a great idea." Scott is all smiles and gushing words, and Derek still can't tell if he likes or loathes Scott by default. 

Talia decides to take the moment to get up and nods deeply at Melissa. "Thank you for lunch. And thank you Scott, for being so..." 

"True?" Scott grins goofily at his own joke, and Talia chuckles. 

"Yes, true." 

"My pleasure. Have a great night, you two." 

Scott closes the door behind them. Derek is still wondering when they got outside as Talia turns to her son. "That went better than expected." He nods distractedly and Talia rolls her eyes. "Go on, run off. I know how much of your father's son you are." 

Derek shares one watery glance with his mother before smiling his thanks and running off into the woods. Maybe Stiles will help him figure out whether to like Scott or not. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

One of the most celebrated accomplishments in the village is not when a pup is born, not when a child slays his first dragon, but instead when two wolves bond in the form of a mating ceremony. There’s nothing as magical as two wolves finding their mates, the one person they’re supposed to be with until they die. Mating ceremonies are bigger than birthing ceremonies, bigger than Dragon ceremonies, and almost as big as the yearly Death ceremonies. Well, it’s not really appropriate to call them ceremonies because most of the time is full of celebration and only a little of traditional ceremonial rites. 

The Mating Ceremony that’s happening right now is the second one Derek has ever been a part of, and it is for his own sister, nonetheless. A werewolf diplomat from another pack had been visiting and had caught one smell of Laura and knew—they were meant to be. Laura, of course, had required him to woo her with gorgeous things and pretty words, and had ultimately agreed to perform the ritual with him only if he agreed to do it in their own village. He, of course, had easily agreed. 

Derek isn’t really sure how exactly it’s supposed to go, but he’s gathered with the other member of his pack in front of a huge makeshift stage. His mother and Cora stand beside him and off to the side of the stage while Laura and Jack stand in the middle. Laura is wearing a thin white gown, a celebration of a summer bonding, and Jack wears a thin white tunic to match. The Hale pack’s triskele is swirled into the lacy patters and decorates the entire outdoor arena, showing off their power and pack bondage. Derek doesn’t realize that his own foot is tapping until his mother hushes him, and it takes most of his self-control to keep still. He’s never had problems with this before, and bitterly blames Stiles. 

He realizes that a surreal hush has overpowered the entire arena and he turns his eyes to the front of the stage. Jack is gently pushing down the collar of Laura’s dress and baring her neck for the packs to see. There’s a few whistles, but most bow their heads in respect. His eyes glow yellow and his fangs poke out between his lips and he bites hard on her neck. A yelp leaves her lips, and blood stains both her and Jack’s pristine clothing. They repeat the process except opposite, Laura lowering her teeth to his neck and painfully latching on, splashing them both with blood. The two wounds heal in synch, leaving pretty pink scarring down their necks. These marks will be theirs to bear for the rest of their lives.

A large bout of howling follows the completion of the ceremony, and the two wolves run down the middle of the crowd, which has parted like a sea. Derek follows when Cora tugs his hand, and the rest of the alpha’s family leaves the arena before the rest of the pack. 

Everyone meets up again in town square, which has been emptied out. It’s odd to be able to see the intricate sunstone details that some architect designed and made thousands of years ago etched into the place where they’re all standing, but now that everything is cleared out Derek can see the full extent of the patterns and pictures. Wolves in the desert, curling around water playfully and baring their teeth at rattlesnakes, fierce yet loving, and beyond beautiful. Derek wonders why they hide it with venders and workers. Where everyone gathers, they create a circle. It’s custom for the married pair and their siblings to dance what is called the Ceremonial Dance. Derek tugs his shirt off to show the muscles he’s been acquiring over the past few months, and blushes when he feels the eyes of more than one young wolf woman.

Laura, in between Cora and him, does the same, and Cora follows suit. On the other side of the circle is Jack’s three siblings: his two sisters and one hulking brother. They stand there, shirtless, ready to dance. The wolves in the circle surrounding them are all holding pain on their fingertips, and as the siblings walk by they brush their hands upon their backs, creating intricate patterns of many different colors and sizes. It’s mesmerizing to look at. The drum stops, signaling the beginning of the dance, and all the siblings in the circle stop as well. They turn to the person opposite of them and walk up in long strides. The drum begins again, and they dance.

“Why hello there, handsome.” The woman pressed against Derek sighs. Her breasts and taut nipples are rubbing into his chest, paint mixed with his own. “Don’t be missing a step, now,” she winks and trades partners like she’s supposed to, and Derek finds himself dancing with the next sister.

This one does not seem to be making any moves on him, and instead focuses on hopping at the correct moment. Derek catches her when she accidentally slips, and many wolves howl, impressed. “Thanks,” she breathes, then trades partners. The brother is the last, and he dances silently with Derek, both of them focusing on the steps and the way their own feet barely miss each other’s. They twist and turn and their fingers brush more than once, but Derek focuses on the dance instead of the tightness of his cock. Sweat is dripping down everyone's necks by the end, paint smearing where the wet tracks ruin the markings. 

Once the siblings finish, it becomes anyone’s invitation to dance and join in the festivities, and they all splatter themselves with paint as they jump and spin, adding tambourines and iron drums to the instrumentation. A few more people demand Derek’s attention, and Talia forces him to give it, and at one point Scott finds him and grabs his hands excitedly. “Derek! Isn’t this the best!? Your sister’s mated!” He swings the older wolf around, managing to splatter them with even more paint. 

Then Scott skips off to find someone else to dance with, Laura and Jack have already ditched their own mating festival, and Derek takes this as his moment to collect his shirt and escape. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Derek! What’s happening up there?!” Stiles asks as soon as he can see the wolf. “There’s so much noise!” His eyes are alight with excitement and fear, and he doesn’t look sure of himself. 

“My sister’s mating ceremony. It’s a big deal.” 

Stiles allows himself a smile. “It sounds like it. And look at you, all painted and shirtless.” The dragon lets his eyes slide up and down Derek’s torso appreciatively, and the wolf blushes profusely and tugs his shirt on. “No,” Stiles whines playfully, letting himself fall back onto a log. Derek’s log. “That was a good view to have.” He grumbles to himself. Derek just stares dumbly at the boy and wonders when their relationship graduated to shameless flirting. Somehow, he doubts it has, but knowing Stiles this is just the beginning. "So what is a Mating Ceremony?" Stiles asks it like he's asking about some weird blood ritual. Which, well, Derek guesses it kind of is. 

He skips a lot of the details, motoring over the shared blood and just talking about the bites and the bond. "It sounds a lot like a wedding." Stiles says casually, looking deep in thought. 

"A wedding?"

"Yeah. When two dragons want to be together, they have a wedding and then are bound together in a bond we call marriage. It's a ceremony a lot like yours except they exchange vows instead of bites and then they each gain marital tattoos. Then we dance and party all night long." 

"We dance as well. That's what these are for," Derek gestures shyly to his back. 

"You dance!?" Stiles's eyes are alight again, and Derek really doesn't like the look in them this time. 

"Only when I must," he grunts. 

"Oh Derek, please show me the dance!" Stiles is half-teasing, half-serious, and his huge doe eyes are too much to say no to. 

"I...I need a partner. I can't do it alone." He rubs his arm awkwardly. 

Stiles glances at his missing foot, but hops into a standing position anyway. "You're strong enough, and with a little magic I think I can help with the balance thing. A little." 

Derek shrugs and lets Stiles brace himself on Derek's shoulders. The boy murmurs something under his breath, and once Derek makes sure the dragon is steady he takes off, pounding his feet hard enough into the ground that they make their own beat. Stiles is staring at their feet in wonder, making sure his foot hops in time, and his face is nothing but joyful when he looks back up. Derek hasn't seen Stiles this relaxed... _ever._ It's an odd but not unwelcome sight. His cheeks are flushed, eyes brighter than normal, not lit with curiosity but with glorious joy. 

It's almost as if they're flying when Derek spins them, Stiles's breathy laughter expelling from his lungs and falling on Derek's cheek. His eyelashes are long in the setting sunlight, the rocky valley they're in no longer a prison but a dancing arena. Stiles's hops grow more sporadic as he gets tired, but his breath is still steady and eventually Derek just continues to lift him through the air, pretending that he can restore the dragon's ability of flight with just his arms. 

Sometimes it looks like Stiles is trying to take off when he lets his hands flit from Derek's shoulders and throws them high into the air during their spins, happy to feel the air whistle through his open fingers. Derek wants to properly feel what it's like to dance with Stiles at a Mating Ceremony, both of their bodies heavy with paint and sweat, twirling and jumping around each other in a flirted art form. He wants to know what it would feel like to have Stiles's bare chest brush up against his own, Stiles's fingers lightly touching his hair, his wrists, his hands. Just Stiles in general. 

"Derek?" The wolf hears, and he realizes that he was so caught up in the moment with Stiles that he never realized another person had come up upon them. "Oh my god," the person says, and in a horror he turns to see Scott. The True Alpha is staring at Derek and Stiles, the werewolf and the dragon, wrapped up in each other's arms and obviously caught, with an _I'm-so-telling-your-mom_ look on his face. There's so much Derek should say right now, so much he _could_ say, but really he's so terrified at being found that only one thing pops out of his mouth. 

"Please don't tell my mom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it please please comment/leave kudos/critique me to no end! I need hard lovin!
> 
> I appreciate each and every one of you!


	4. In Which A Werewolf & A Dragon Deal With Another Werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeee let's all welcome Scott to the story because, let's face it, you can't have a truly great teen wolf story without some epic Sciles side bromace action. 
> 
> Also, I add a nice little treat at the end for the last 700 words. Go me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. Sorry this took a little while. I have a busy life :(

Derek has officially decided that he hates Scott, no matter how much Stiles coos over him. And maybe that's why he hates Scott. He refuses to confirm or deny it. 

The second the True Alpha had called his name, Stiles had panicked and threw one of his bags of spells on him. Derek had stood there, in between a state of being impressed and panicking as well, and let the spell bag hit Scott right in the face. The spell had been a knock-out one, Stiles explained a few moments afterwards, and he had crafted it shortly after meeting Derek. 

Derek is sure as hell glad it's never been used on him. 

"He's adorable!" Stiles had said about the True Alpha, cocking his head at Scott. Scott was lying sprawled on the ground, spit pooling before him from his mouth and jaw crookedly open. Stiles was smitten from the start. "He looks like a puppy!" He had declared. 

When Scott came to a few minutes later— _"Dammit Derek, my spells aren't as strong as they usually are. I'm totally blaming you for it"—_ they quickly clamped a hand over his mouth and explained the situation as best they could. Scott had watched them with confused, mistrustful eyes, but they had softened as the story went on. 

"I mean...wow guys," Scott says the moment they let him speak. "You...and you..." He looks between the werewolf and the dragon. "Wow." He looks so overwhelmed Derek fears that he might do something insane, like howl and alert everyone of their position, but instead he just sits up further and squints at the two. "So this is your meeting place and you guys are like, together?" 

Derek and Stiles share one wide-eyed look before whipping their heads back to Scott. "No!" "Definitely not." 

"Okay, okay!" Scott raises his hands in surrender. "Jee-sus. Didn't mean anything by it." Then he studies Stiles. "So...you're really a Night Fury?" He doesn't even wait for a response before plowing forward. "That's really cool, dude. And you don't have any overwhelming feeling to like, kill me or anything?" 

Stiles doesn't look impressed. "Do you have an overwhelming urge to kill _me_?" He deadpans. 

Scott smiles his crooked grin. "I really like you, man. And you don't ever have to worry about me hurting you, it's kind of against my nature." 

"Against your nature? All weres kill," Stiles looks confusedly at Derek. 

Derek shrugs. "He's a True Alpha. That means he became an Alpha by upholding great values and not killing anyone. Ever." 

"Dude, you're like the Buddha of werewolves. Nice." Stiles turns to Derek. "Is that why I've never heard of him before? You always tell me stories about your training." 

"Yeah. Scott's not allowed to train with us just in case he accidentally kills something. When your pack's in danger, you'll do crazy things...even if it's against your deepest, most moral code." 

"Sounds intense." Stiles comments. Then he turns to Scott. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" He looks hopeful. "You know, about me and sourwolf here?" 

"You've never called me that before. I resent you and your stupid nicknames," Derek growls, but Stiles just laughs. 

"Course not." Scott shrugs. "It's not like you're planning on killing the entire pack, right?" 

"Definitely not," Stiles agrees. "And I like you. So come back with Derek to visit me? I get lonely." Derek tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat and the sick feeling that curls around in his stomach when Stiles looks at Scott. 

"Why can't you get out?" Scott frowns, like it's him that's stuck down here instead of Stiles. 

Stiles holds up his leg. "I'm kind of impaired, dude." 

" _Ooooohhh_." Scott sighs out, looking regretful for asking. Then he turns to Derek. "Well why the hell haven't you helped him out yet?" 

Derek sighs. Leave it to Scott to ask the obvious questions. "Well—"

"First of all, if he helps me out then there's a great chance I could get stuck in the woods. Then a werewolf will find me, smell the dragon on me, and _boom._ Dead Stiles. If he helps me out and gets me to my herd, there's an even greater chance that they'll recognize him as a were. Then it's _boom_ : dead Derek. And probably dead Stiles as well. It's not a good deal." Stiles finishes with a flourish. Then he looks at Derek with a shit-eating grin. "Oh sorry, were you telling him?" 

Derek glares, but it's really hard to be even pretend mad at Stiles when he's being this playful. "So what's the plan, then? Have Derek bring you food and company forever? That'll only work so long. It's not very hard to follow you, you know." Scott looks pointedly at Derek, and the beta hangs his head. 

"Calm down, dude. We're really just waiting for my magic to heal. Then I'll be able to mask myself and hopefully transform back into a dragon." Stiles looks between the two werewolves, gauging reactions. 

"Sounds cool. But, uh, Derek? I came down here because your mom demanded that you get home. Apparently there's a warning out about another dragon attack that might be going on soon, and we need all hands on deck." Scott glances off-handedly at Stiles, but the dragon isn't even paying attention to him. 

"Fine, go. But come back soon, you hear?" 

"See you, Stiles." Derek says, and Scott waves a goodbye before the two werewolves make their way out of the overgrown hole. 

"Dude, dragons can shapeshift? That's like, so awesome." Scott says. 

"Yeah. Scared me the first time Stiles told me about it." Scott is silent, eyebrows crinkled tightly as he contemplated something. Derek sighs, giving in. "What is it?" 

Scott shakes his head hard. "If...if dragons can shapeshift, then why don't the ones we capture just go into their human form and escape? It would be so easy," he says, looking up at Derek. His face is completely puzzled. 

"I...I don't know." Derek realizes, suddenly wondering if there's a whole other problem on their hands. "We feed them every day. Do you think they're too weak?" 

"No way, dude. It's gotta be something else." 

"But what?" 

"I have no clue." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Something's gotten into Peter between the mating ceremony and now, because he's oddly refraining from mocking them and he seems almost...nice. It's weird, and something is definitely wrong. 

"Yes well, today we'll be dealing with a Monstrous Nightmare. These beasts are usually quite rude, so just beware. Fire power isn't amazing, but they're very big and strong and fast, so be warned. Good luck." It's the most information he's ever given them on a dragon before letting it loose on them, and everyone is kind of dazed for a second before they realize that the Monstrous Nightmare has been released. Immediately everyone scatters, because even though the fire power of the creature isn't amazing, it's still _fire power._

Its fire spray is just that—a spray—and the heat manages to catch Derek on the arm and singe off a few of his hairs. He's much better off than Isaac, though, who's missing half of his left eyebrow. "Run, dammit!" Derek yells at him, because he's literally just _standing there_ in absolute awe. Isaac jolts into motion and sprints off to the gardens. Derek takes this moment to bring out his secret weapon: a sugar cake. 

The first time Derek had ever brought a sugar cake down to the ravine where Stiles is, the dragon had immediately pounced him in lust. Apparently, dragons can smell sugar if it's anywhere near them, and from how Stiles acts, it's addictive as hell. The second Stiles had taken a bite, he'd melted in content, even going as far as _purring._ Oh yeah, dragons purr. And it's fucking awesome. 

He's hoping it will work with the Monstrous Nightmare. 

The second the dragon calms down enough to inhale, it immediately zeroes in on Derek. And Derek knows it can definitely smell the sugar on him. He almost screams when it flies in, claws extended, but all it does is land right next to him. Its huge head noses into his chest roughly. It knocks him back on his butt, and he's entirely stunned for a second as the dragon noses greedily at his hands and chest, nipping his jacket with its large teeth for a taste of sugar. Now Derek has to stifle a laugh because its teeth are tickling him. 

The dragon is— _dammit why do they do this?—_ purring with complete pleasure at the taste of the sweet treat, and Derek takes that moment to slowly lead it back towards the cage. He's pretty sure it'll do anything just for another taste of sugar, and when he discreetly tosses another cake into its cage, it wastes no time crawling in to get it. When he locks the cage behind him, he turns to see everyone staring at him, awed looks on their faces. "What?" He asks defensively. 

Their disbelieving glares say it all. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Dude, you've gotta be more subtle," Scott says as he and Derek walk through town, on their way to the woods. 

Derek sighs loudly. "Well I want to try out all this stuff I'm finding out while hanging with Stiles. How am I supposed to do that when I can't even do experiments?" 

Scott rolls his eyes. "You can't just do it in front of everybody. You were never a very good fighter, Derek, face it. So you suddenly becoming the ultimate dragon chainer? It's kind of a huge deal. If you aren't careful, you're the pup that's going to be picked to lead the next attack." 

Derek groans, bumping Scott's shoulder roughly with his own. "You're not helping here. I need to do this." 

"I get it man, but remember that you also have to worry about Stiles. I know you care about him, dude, so make sure he stays safe. Okay?" 

Derek grumbles to himself for a second. "Fine." 

"Good." Scott's smile is wide and content. "Now, before we hang with Stiles, I want to tell you about this idea I had..." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Why does your water taste so weird? I've been wondering for a while." Stiles says as they approach. 

"Our water tastes weird?" Scott looks at Derek. 

Derek shrugs back. "I dunno. Maybe dragons have different taste buds." 

"It smells weird too," Stiles complains, sniffing it with obvious distaste. 

"You've never mentioned it before!" Derek says, exasperated. If he didn't have as much self control, he'd be throwing his hands up in exasperation right about now. 

"Well by now I know that you guys aren't going to kill me if I make requests. And I request to know why your water is weird." Stiles bites into his bread. "And your food too, for that matter." 

"Well we don't do anything to it." Derek sighs. 

"How do we make bread?" Scott frowns deeply, trying to be helpful. 

"First we make the dough. Wheat, yeast, eel, water, salt, and honey." Derek frowns, thinking over the ingredients. "Then we knead the dough and—" 

"Wait...eel?" Stiles asks, his tongue bulging out of his mouth. 

"Yeah, we put eel in everything we eat and dri—" 

"You've been feeding me _eel_!?" Stiles screeches, hurling the canteen of water as far away from himself as he possibly can and spitting out the nutrient water. 

"We add their blood to a lot of our food, it keeps up our immunity to diseases, long-term injuries, and other possible werewolf complications." Derek answers, confused. Scott's standing off to the side, looking a tad bit terrified. 

"Well it's no wonder I can't do magic as well as usual or shift. _YOU'VE BEEN FEEDING ME FUCKING POISON_!" Stiles looks horrified, and Derek knows that only half of it is from over exaggerating. 

"I'm sorry!" Derek apologizes quickly. "I didn't know it suppresses the magic in your kind." 

"Suppresses the magic!? How about fucking kills us slowly!? Is this what you feed the dragons you keep captive?" Stiles looks between Derek and Scott. "Of course it is, of course it is. Well it's no wonder they can't shift. This shit is poisonous to dragons. If we drink it, even diluted, it can cause awful long-term effects. Some of the dragons who have had it for very long periods of time can become feral, and will never shift into their human form again. Dammit, Derek." He says the last part as if it's all Derek's fault. 

It's not. Really, it isn't. 

"Well now we know why they haven't shifted," Scott shrugs, quirking his lips a little. 

"Yeah, and why I can't use my magic. Thanks, dumbass." Stiles playfully glares at Derek. 

Again, _not his fault!_

"Well...do you suggest letting them shift?" 

"No!" Stiles says almost immediately. "Oh god sorry, that makes me sound like an awful person. I just really really don't think that sounds like a good idea. I think we need to talk about how we're going to go about ending this dragon/werewolf feud and bring peace to our nations." 

"Oh, is that the ultimate plan?" Scott asks, finally interested again. He draws closer. 

Stiles doesn't look impressed. "Do you have any other plans worthy of being The Ultimate Plan?" He says it with such fake mockery it almost has to be capitalized. 

"No no, it's a good plan." Scott hops down closer to the, and sits next to Derek on his log. "But how are you going to execute it?" 

"Did you just miss the entire conversation before this? That's what we're trying to figure out." Derek says, pretty meanly, and Stiles just laughs at him. 

"You're such an asshole," he says fondly. Derek rolls his eyes, but inside his heart is being stabbed with tiny pushpins. 

"So...plan?" Scott asks, trying to break the intense eye contact war Stiles and Derek seem to be having, and it's like a spell has been let loose. 

"Oh uh, yeah. Well, I still say we bring it to your alpha." Stiles says. 

"And I still say that that's a terrible idea. My mom might kill you on the spot, no matter if you're with me or not." 

"But she won't kill him if he's with me," Scott points out. "It'd be like a war cry if she killed me. And she'd have to go through me to get to Stiles. I'll make sure of it." Stiles and Scott fist bump, and Derek sighs. They've come to develop what Stiles calls "an epic bromance to break all species barriers," and nothing can "break their bro-bond." Derek begs to differ: a sword would do the job just fine. 

"I think we should do it...publicly." Derek says the word as if it pains him, but it's a real idea with real pros to it. 

"Where?" Scot says. 

"Well, where does everyone meet together once a year to watch both werewolves and dragons?" Derek turns to Scott, a dumb look on his face. 

Scott slaps Derek on the arm, but the stinging sensation lasts half a second before fading. "You don't have to be such a jerk." He's smiling though, and the bite is taken from his statement. Lately Scott has actually been understanding Derek's dry humor, and it's actually kind of great to be able to hang out with another werewolf without offending them. 

"Where?" Stiles is looking between the two of them so fast he might as well have whiplash. 

"The arena." Derek answers. "You know, the one where I practice with the others in my pack?" 

"Oh, the one that you fight other dragons in?" Stiles asks. 

"Yeah. Every year there's a tournament where the training werewolves display their strength against dragons. The winner gets to face off with our most dangerous, and whoever wins gets granted full adult status in the pack, and the chance to lead a whole troop into war. The rest of them get adultship by fighting smaller battles in times of war and such." Scott says. "The entire pack gathers to see it." 

"How many people are in your pack?" Stiles asks. 

"About 200 werewolves, all betas." Derek recites. 

Stiles whistles. "Impressive." 

"But see, it's definitely our best bet for getting everyone's attention. Hopefully they won't be trying to kill you, because we'll be in a concentrated area." Derek reasons. 

"It...it might just work," Scott looks awed. 

Stiles beams. "Let's make ourselves a plan then." He turns the blinding smile to Derek, and his heart is now Stiles's own personal pincushion. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A mere fifty miles away, a man sits at his desk. Dark circles surround his eyes and his weary head falls on his hands again. Drawings and papers are scattered before him, and he picks up another and stares at it blankly. A knock sounds at his door. "Sheriff?" A voice says, and the man slowly looks up to see dragon-sister Lydia standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt." 

"No, no," Sheriff sighs, pushing back in his chair. "I'm just looking over these documents again." 

"You know we'll find him, right?" Lydia asks gently, walking over to put her hand on Sheriff's shoulder. 

"We have to put forth effort if we're ever going to find my son," Sheriff says, gesturing towards the plethora of papers. 

"Knowing Stiles, he'll just turn up and ask if he missed taco night," she smiles fondly, but it's full of sadness as well. 

"Well, he's been gone about a month. He's definitely missed taco night." The Sheriff laughs wetly. 

"He's gonna be pissed," Lydia adds weakly. They stand in silence for a few moments before Lydia startles. "Oh! I almost forgot my reason for being here. The Leaders called upon both you and I as soon as possible." 

Sheriff sighs as he stands up from his chair, joints creaking like hinges that need oil. Together he and Lydia walk together out of his small two-bedroom house—that he now has all to himself—and into the town streets. The town is fairly busy: marketplaces and business owners bustling around to trade goods and sell masterpieces. Workers bearing firewood and coal grit as they haul their heavy loads. Sheriff and Lydia finally make it to the center of town, where a good-sized temple rests, blocking sunlight from most angles, depending on the position of the sun. 

Together they venture in, ducking their heads on the hanging curtains. When they get inside they see the three Leaders sitting on their respective thrones. Kali on the left, Ennis on the right, and Deucalion perfectly centered between the two. The blind man holds up his hand in a way of acknowledgment and the two dragons bow their heads at the Leaders. 

"Sheriff. Lydia. Thank you for coming on such short notice." Deucalion says cordially. 

Sheriff has always hated how Deucalion acts as if he cares. It makes him all the more deadly. "Of course, Leader Deucalion." He bows again. 

"We must discuss the disappearance of your son. As you know, he's been gone for over a month, and none of our scouts have been able to spot him in any werewolf prison. We are almost positive that Stiles is dead." Sheriff makes a strangled noise, but chokes back anything else. "It is a tragedy, but we must prepare for the future of our colony and herd. I have been discussing it with Leader Kali and Leader Ennis, and we all agree that the best action to take is to attempt to breed the next black dragon as soon as we can. Our herds are much more strong with a black dragon in them, and if Stiles is dead than that will allow another to be born. 

"Sheriff, we understand that the black dragon has been coming from your line of succession since the beginning of this herd. Therefore, we deem it necessary that you mate with the most eligible female as soon as can be arranged. Since your wife is dead, we screened through many other potential mates and found that your best match would be Lydia here." 

The air in the room stands still before Sheriff breaks through with gusto. "Wait one moment! Lydia is the same age as Stiles! Not only is that wrong, but insanely inappropriate! I may understand the need for a black dragon, but I don't understand why it must be Lydia. There is a good chance she will not even bear a black dragon. Please, I beg you to reconsider my mating partner." 

Lydia stands stock-still next to him. 

"The decision has been made," Ennis says rudely. 

"I cannot mate with Lydia. She would become a prisoner to our bond." Sheriff protests. 

"Sheriff, we have made our decision." Deucalion purrs. "It's time you respect it." 

"She should not be subject to your ruling!" Sheriff yells out in desperation. 

"Rajmund, you _will_ mate with her, and she will bear your child!" Deucalion roars, and immediately Sheriff becomes submissive at the sound of his real name. 

"But Stiles _isn't dead_!" Lydia insists, finally stepping forward. 

"You as well, Zosia," Kali smiles venomously as she watches Lydia crumple at the strength of her own name being thrown at her in a command. "You will do what we ask." 

"We'll set the bonding ceremony in a week's time, and you two will be married by the end. We expect big things." 

And with that, Sheriff and Lydia are forced to leave the room. 

Lydia is chalk-white as they make their way back through town and she has to lick her lips multiple times before she can finally talk. Her voice is barely a whisper. "Sheriff...what are we going to do?" 

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then chokes on his words before finally settling on his honest-to-God thoughts. "I...I don't know, Lydia. We can't outright disobey the Leaders's orders. You know..." He swallows. "You know what happens to those who defy them." 

She shudders violently, the harshness of hearing her real name being spoken from their lips still a visible weight on her shoulders.

Sheriff watches as she shuffles along, her fate already chosen by the Leaders, and she sets his jaw. "Lydia, come with me." He grabs her elbow a bit roughly and changes their direction. Instead of their cluster of houses, he leads them back past the community washroom building and to a whole other bunch of houses. These ones are darker and bigger, rough with dried mud and pointed sticks. Lydia shivers, but the hot summer sun indicates the beautiful day. She hesitates a little, but he leads her on, right up a pathway that leads directly to a front door. He raps on it neatly with quick, sharp knocks. 

The door opens silently, and a woman's head appears. Her hair is a shock of bright red and her eyes speak of danger. She purses her lips at them and cocks her head a bit, then opens her mouth. "What's your business here, Sheriff?" 

"I need to speak with you and Chris. It's important." 

She purses her lips again and nods, opening the door wide enough to let the two of them in. Lydia hesitates again on the threshold, but the fear of letting Sheriff leave her behind is too great, and she follows mindlessly. The inside of the house is exactly the opposite of the inside. The single cream love seat is decorated with floral patterns that spin in lovely directions, and pictures litter the walls in a decorative fashion. The only thing truly unsettling—and boy, is it weird—are the mounted werewolf heads on the walls. They're on plaques, and strategically placed around the house so that at least one petrified werewolf head is watching over every room. Sheriff wonders lightly if there's one in the bathroom, and if there is, whether it's male or female. 

"Sheriff," he hears, and turns to see Chris walking to him in his huge muddy boots. 

"Chris," he returns the favor, inclining his head. 

"To what do I owe the favor?" A single silver eyebrow lifts on his forehead. 

"As you may know, my son Stiles went missing on the last raid." 

"The black dragon," Chris acknowledges. 

"The very one. The Leaders have it in their heads that he's dead, and that now is the time to start attempting to breed for another one. Unfortunately, that means that Lydia and I would need to be wed at the end of next week, and mated shortly after. If it's not obvious, I'm very against this idea. Lydia is as old as you daughter, is she not?" Chris's expression is neutral as he nods stoically. "Then I feel that you can sympathize with me when I say that I need to go get Stiles." 

Chris is careful as he walks nearer, but shows interest. "How can you be sure that Stiles is alive?" 

"I'm not." Sheriff says. "But I need to find out for sure. There have been no records of his death or imprisonment, and I really must try everything before we are forced to..." He spares a glance at Lydia, and she nods, almost queenly. 

Chris looks pensive. "I'm so sure that's the best idea, Sheriff. We can't go risking lives on just a whim," he reasons. "Besides, I'm not sure you can p—" 

"Daddy!" A high, sweet voice calls from an upstairs landing, and a teenage girl with curly black hair and fair skin stomps purposefully down the stairs. "How could you? Have a heart. This man's son may still be alive, and he is being forced to marry and have children with my eighteen-year-old _best friend_!" She looks angry. Seething, in fact. "I've never been more ashamed." She holds authority in her voice, and her father winces. "You will put together the search party, and you will look for Stiles as best you can!" She states.

His mouth opens in protest, but she barrels on. "And you will do it for minimum pay!" She says. "You're the best hunter we've got, so you'd better start acting like it." She glares at her parents. "Now tell the nice man that you will find his son." 

Chris looks begrudgingly at Sheriff, and has the modestly to look ashamed. "We will send a party out tomorrow, led by me, and we will find your son." He says. 

"Good!" The girl spins on her heel and leads Lydia up to where she came from. 

Sheriff is left staring after her in awe, along with her parents. "Your daughter?" He asks awkwardly. 

"Glad you could meet Allison."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this chapter while I should have been studying and posted it almost immediately afterwards, so sorry for any mistakes. Feel free to critique however you like and comment if you deem it worthy! (Same with kudos).


	5. In Which A Werewolf & A Dragon Encounter A Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is mad at Derek, Derek diffuses the situation, good things happen. Then Stiles's search party comes to town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this took forever. I had like 1,000 words for almost two weeks, and then last night I stayed up until 2am writing this. I couldn't even post it I was so tired. Sorry!

Derek doesn't know the first thing about welding, heating things to insanely high temperatures, or bending hot metals to perfect angles and curls. He does, however, know how to smack hot metal with another piece of (cool) metal. Somehow, he finds himself doing just that one night in the welding house where Scott works. His boss isn't there, but he has unlimited access to pretty much wherever and whatever he wants because of his status. 

They're putting into motion one of Scott's actually pretty cool plans, and Derek can't be more excited. With Scott's welding skills and Derek's practiced but unprofessional woodworking ones, they're putting together the perfect gift for Stiles. It's actually coming together nicely, but Derek still finds room to complain because Scott's making _him_ assemble it. 

Derek's smoothing out some heart wood from a hickory tree, recently dead from the forest, when Scott hands him a newly-crafted and cooled spring. It's large and heavy, but still springs with the rig amount of weight. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Derek asks gruffly, holding it up in front of his face. Unfortunately, the dim firelight from Scott's welding station isn't shedding any light on the situation. 

"Add it to the bottom," Scott points. "It'll be more natural." 

"More natural my ass," Derek grumbles, and complies with Scott's instructions. "Are you almost done with the rod?" 

"Relax! The spring took up a lot of time. I'm getting there." 

"It's a damn rod, I have no clue how that takes longer than a spring." Derek complains, and Scott shoots him a nasty look. 

This has been going on for a few days now. 

Derek has become increasingly more annoyed with every second he spends with Scott, snippy and biting in almost everything he does. Scott is, really, a very nice guy, and it gets on Derek's nerves. Something about a Good Samaritan just makes him want to throw up. Scott also seems to be getting fed up with Derek's grumbly attitude. They've been holed up in the welder's building for three days straight and their companionship has been anything but companionable. They've both decided that Stiles is their mutual friend, and they're only associates because of him. 

When Scott finally hands him the final rod, the two of them spend two more hours griping to each other about how to put the contraption together before finally finishing and heading their separate ways, frustrated beyond belief. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Scott is practically jumping with excitement when he knocks on Derek's door the next morning, and they walk out to the woods together. Whatever hostile feelings Scott held towards him the previous night are all slept away and the alpha continues to bump his arm or elbow or hand against Derek's, playful touches that indicate his happiness. Derek grumbles, but doesn't do anything about the sudden intense friendliness. 

Derek's cradling their present for Stiles in his hands, and it's carefully wrapped in one of his bedsheets. If his mom found out she would kill him, but really he can't bring himself to care too much at the moment because it's for _Stiles._

When they get down to the rock valley (it really needs a good name, Derek thinks) Stiles is already waiting, eating a fresh piece of fish expectantly. His glare is enough to make both of them shudder. 

"Three days," is all he says, and those two words make Derek cringe with guilt, even if he was doing something nice and productive all that time. 

"I know," Scott starts, "but we—" 

" _Three days."_ Stiles interrupts, eyes boring holes through the bashful werewolves. Derek feels something curl around his ankle, and yelps when he sees a thorn bush trailing its way up his leg. The weed immediately retracts back into the ground, but not before it leaves at least five different trails of blood dripping down Derek's leg. As it dries it gets caught in his leg hair. 

"We're sorry Stiles, we didn't—"

"You didn't _mean to?_ I mean, I get it. I get that your lives are busy. But don't fucking tell me that you're going to get me out of here and that we're going to come up with this great plan to unite our races and then _leave me alone for three days wondering if you're ever going to come back!"_ The dragon is livid, and Derek feels sick. Of course Stiles would feel that way. He's a dragon in the company of two weres. How else is he supposed to act? What else is he supposed to think?

"We brought you something." Derek says, attempting to diffuse the situation. He thrusts the gift at Stiles, heart beating fast until the dragon takes it. 

Stiles carefully holds it, and you can tell he's trying to guess what it is before he opens it. "Go on," Scott urges, excited. 

Stiles looks up at them, puzzlement obvious on his face. He spots Derek's encouraging but shy smile and unwraps the present quickly, eagerly. And once he's finished he just sits there, staring dumbly at the contraption cradled in his arms. 

"Do you like it?" Scott asks eagerly, not noticing the need for silence. 

Stiles nods mutely, still staring at the shabby prosthetic right in front of him. 

Scott looks worried. "Is there—"

"Scott." Derek says quietly, jerking his head to Stiles. The dragon sniffs once, and when Derek sees a tear fall he immediately joins the boy on the ground. "What's wrong? I'm sorry, I'm sorry if we made you sad. Please, just..." Derek trails off, unsure. 

Stiles sniffs again, this time with more congestion, and looks up from his lap to where Derek is crouched beside him. His eyes are red and his trembling mouth is twisted into a smile. "This is...the most thoughtful present I've ever received." He trails his hand lovingly over the wood. "I love it," he whispers softly. 

"It was Scott's idea," Derek says gently. 

Scott blushes when Stiles turns his head. "Derek did most of it. Do you want to try it on?" He expertly diverts attention. 

Stiles nods vigorously, and the two werewolves heave him into a standing position, despite his sharp but playful protests. Scott crouches and sets Stiles's nub into the contraption, and Derek can hear all the metal parts click together tightly when Scott twists them against the wood. The spring shakes gently against the force, and Derek lets Stiles lean even more heavily on him. 

Once Scott had pronounced it perfect, Derek looks at Stiles. "You ready to give it a try?" 

"Please," Stiles says excitedly, and together they take a step. Stiles wastes no time falling, but Derek catches him before his leg gives out all the way, and they're back on their feet to try again. It takes Stiles a while to kind of get the hang of it, and even then his knee is still really weak from not using it. 

"It's amazing," Stiles says a few hours later when they're lounging back by Stiles's base camp, sipping perfectly fresh water and snacking on the oddly salty snails from the lake bay. Lovely yellow flowers—tiny, happy ones—are growing in the area by Stiles's foot. "It really...it really means a lot to me that you guys would do something like that. And just for it, I, well, I have something to show _you."_

Stiles doesn't have his leg on anymore, but he stands up with the help of the wall and backs away from them a little. "Okay, so stay back a little bit. And just watch." Stiles screws up his face in concentration. He stays like that for a little while before letting his expression fall as slack as heavy snow drifts. Then, suddenly, as if it happens daily, his perfect pale skin begins to sprout black scales and his eyes enlarge, along with his head and pretty much every single part of his body ever imaginable. Huge black bat wings sprout from his back, and his spine arches in odd angles, cracking and splintering. 

And suddenly, standing before them, is a Night Fury. Derek shakes his head firmly. No, it's _Stiles._ And he's magnificent. His black scales glisten in the light that filters through the trees, his amazing honey eyes glow, and his large wings stretch up towards the sky with a great illusion of black waves coming to swallow the two werewolves up. Derek's left speechless, but Scott spares no expense. 

" _Holy shit!"_ He says, looking up at Stiles who wide eyes. "Dude, you're a dragon! You could eat me like a mid-morning snack!" He laughs, eyes dancing merrily. Derek groans and rolls his eyes at Scott's word choice, but Stiles seems to find it hilarious. He snorts through his large nostrils and swigs his head down to their level, nuzzling the two of them with it. It's a sweet and surprisingly werewolf-like mannerism. 

"Can you breathe fire?" Scott asks, and Stiles snorts at him. _No._ Stiles does, however, show off his skills at _shooting fire._ They're very small, very blue streams of hot, blazing fire, and he sends them into the large rock wall and the tiny lake. It really is impressive. 

Once Stiles simmers down and gets close enough again to touch, Derek wastes no time running his hands along the dragon's beautiful scales. When his hand finds a specific spot right under his jawbone, Stiles's tail immediately thumps and he falls to the ground. Derek is alarmed at first, but Stiles is rumbling happily, and goes to stand back up when Derek does it again. Predictably, he falls. "Dragons got a soft spot, eh?" Derek asks, grinning widely, and Stiles hisses at him, which makes the whole thing even funnier. 

Stiles changes back to human and immediately he's talking. "Now that I can transform, we can use this to our advantage." His eyes are shining. "The plan can be set in motion." 

"Stiles—" Derek starts, but the dragon shakes his head viciously. 

"No. Derek, we talked about this. We have to do this. And we have to do it soon. When is your arena championship again?" 

Derek sighs, turning away from him. "Two days." 

"Then that's when we do it." Stiles says fiercely, and when Derek turns to look at him he sees Stiles in an extremely aggressive pose. It's the first time Derek has ever seen him like this; Stiles always takes the defensive, not the aggressive. It's an odd change, but it's oddly _right_. 

Derek opens his mouth to argue, but almost the exact same second a loud howl echoes all the way to the canyon—soft, but still audible. Derek glances at Scott to find the other werewolf already flashing his red eyes. That was a warning howl. Something is up. Something very, very bad. 

"This conversation is not over, but Stiles, we have to go," Derek says. Stiles takes one look at his white face and nods, terrified. 

"Do you think they saw me?" He whispers. 

"Not at all. If they had, they would have brought the mob here." He smiles weakly, but it falls. 

"Derek, c'mon." Scott is antsy, he needs to return to the pack. Derek feels the pull too, but on a much smaller level. 

Derek nods, gives Stiles one last lingering touch on his arm, and turns away to follow Scott back home. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When they get there, out of breath even with their werewolf strength and stamina, they find the source of the panic right away. There's a small pack of humans that smell faintly like dragons standing in the middle of town, aiming their weapons at the circle of werewolves that surround them. Derek and Scott silently join the circle, as if they were here all along. 

They make it just in time to see Talia stepping forward. "Weapons down." She commands. The man in front shakes his head firmly. "Weapons down or I will not talk with you, you will go straight to the dungeons." Derek admires the strength his mother has. 

The silver-haired man deflates, nodding his head to his men and women as he lowers his crossbow. 

"That wasn't so hard." Talia states. "Now we've had many humans here, but none as aggressive as you. Why are you here?" As Talia says the words, Derek realizes that his mother doesn't know that the strangers smell like dragons. She thinks they're just human. He looks to Scott and sees the same realization dawning on his face. 

"We seek a dragon. He belongs to us." The silver-haired man, definitely the guy in charge, says boldly. 

"I have never heard of a human civilization keeping dragons." She cocks her head. When it's clear he won't answer, she speaks again. "We do not keep many dragons here. We have a few for training our youths, if you'd like to take a look." She gestures for the circle to break, and makes a hand motion for the humans to follow. "However, you must keep all your weapons here." 

The human—no, _dragon—_ hesitates, but a girl from the back of their little pack touches his arm, and he lets his crossbow drop. She puts down her bow and quiver, and the rest of their team follows suit. "I'll have our training pups keep your weapons safe. Now come." 

The second the men and women step away from their weapons, Erica, Boyd, Ethan, Aiden, Cora, and Isaac grab the guns and crossbows and sticks. Once everything is gathered, they troop towards their main city building. Scott and Derek share one look before following the group of dragons. The smell is like Stiles x 100, but lacks his faint flowery scent, and there's no hint of apple. They follow only a few steps behind. Neither are very worried about being stopped. The son of the alpha and the True Alpha? They have every reason to follow whoever they wish. 

True to her word, Talia leads the group to the closed-off alcove where they keep the dragons. The team looks into each cave, eyeing the inhabitants before realizing that whoever is in there is not who they're looking for. A few of the dragons bristle when they see the team, some's eyes light up in recognition, and some are just too out of it or too tired to do anything but stare blankly. But the team obviously knows each and every one of these caged creatures. 

After Talia finishes letting them see, the dark-haired girl who had the bow steps forward. "He's not here. Where are you keeping him?" 

"Allison–" their leader says, stepping to stop her. 

"No! Where is he?!" She asks, voice inching higher with each word. "Where is our dragon?" Derek watches the exchange, eyes wide. _Who are they looking for?_ Scott mouths to him, and Derek just shakes his head slowly. Hell if he knows.

Talia's eyes flash. "I have no clue what you're talking about, and why this dragon means so much to you. But you cannot come onto my pack grounds and speak to me as such. This is a favor." 

The girl—Allison—turns away from the alpha and stands next to a man in clothes that are completely tan. The man looks absolutely broken, and she places a hand on his shoulder. "This dragon has something that's very dear to me and my family. We must find it. Are you sure," he asks, voice cracking, "sure that you haven't seen a black dragon? He'd be entirely black, big eyes, fast." 

Talia frowns at the smell the man is emitting—it's an awful, raw smell, one of hurt and loss and devastation. She must understand how much the answer means to him. "You must be talking about the Night Fury." Her brow wrinkles as she tried to remember. "Yes, it was here during the last attack. Actually," she looks towards the back, and Derek finds his mother's eyes directly on him, "my son Derek took it down. His sister swears she watched him vault it down with one of our catapulting nets. The dragon must be dead. Derek, do you remember where it fell?" 

Derek swallows, because suddenly the entire team of dragons turns to him, their eyes glaring. He quickly realizes who these people are: Stiles's search party. They came to rescue him, and now they think that Derek killed their son/friend/dragon-brother. Today probably can't get worse. 

"I...it must be somewhere in the woods." He answers, licking his lips. "It's the only place that makes sense." He swallows. 

"Honey, you've been spending lots of time in the woods. Haven't you seen the body?" Derek doesn't miss the way the dragon pack flinches at the word. 

"No Mom." He answers. "But I think it's probably dead." Even to his own ears, he can hear the hollowness in his voice. 

"There. You heard my son, it's almost positively dead. I can have him take you out there, though, and you can search for the body. Perhaps the dragon kept whatever it stole from you with itself." 

"Perhaps." Their leader whispers, eyes glazed. "I think we would greatly appreciate a guide through the the woods as we search." He inclines his head towards Derek. 

"Of course. Derek, please lead them through the woods. Maybe they'll spot something you didn't." Talia gives him a hard look. "Scott, will you accompany him? And once you all return, we will feast and then send the humans back where they came from. I hope you find what you're looking for." She informs everyone regally, then leads them all out at a brisk pace. 

"Thank you for taking us," the leader says to Derek as his mother walks away and he begins to lead them, Scott by his side, into the woods. 

Derek nods, chills creeping up his back at the hatred in the pack's glares. It's worse than the disappointed looks of his mother, back when he wasn't a "dragon killer." He steps cautiously over every branch, nudging Scott with his arm. "Where do we take them?" He whispers. 

"That's not really a question to ask me," Scott says back softly. Derek shoots him a questioning glance. "That's something you should ask Stiles." 

Derek's eyes flick to the group of dragons. "Will you...?" He trails off, looking at them again. 

"Of course." Scott answers, shooting him a small smirk. Derek nods and places a hand on the alpha's shoulder, swiping his palm along the nape of Scott's neck. The warning is clear: _be careful._

Derek turns to the team. "Some business has come up. I promise I'll return shortly, but for now Scott will lead you on the search through the woods." Derek nods shortly at them, looking but not seeing, and turns away before running off deeper into the woods. After he's been running for a few minutes, he turns and begins to go in the direction of the chasm. He knows it's a crappy masking job, but it'll have to do for now. 

When he gets down in the chasm, Stiles is already limping towards him with a smile on his face. "Derek! Back so soon? What happened up there?" He asks. "Were they sa—" he stops, seeing the look on Derek's face. "What is it?" 

Derek licks his lips. There's no way to say this easily. "Stiles, a group of dragons disguised as humans approached my mother and pack today. They're...they're looking for you." 

Stiles's eyes immediately widen. "Is there a blind man with them?" 

"Stiles I don't understand why—" 

" _Was there a blind man with them!?"_ Stiles presses himself against Derek, whiskey eyes desperately searching his own. 

"No," he says. 

Stiles deflates. "Thank god. Who was it?" 

"It was led by a man. He had silver hair and...blue eyes. There was a girl with dark hair. Allison, her name was." 

"Allison?" Stiles's entire demeanor perks up, eyes alight. 

"Yeah. Pretty, a leader." 

"That's her. God, I've missed her." He pauses, but Derek knows that he wants to say more. He waits. "Was there...was there a man dressed in a sheriff's outfit?" 

Derek's eyebrows crinkle. "Sheriff's outfit?" 

Stiles waves his hands around himself, as if gesturing towards an imaginary outfit. "It would be long pants, short sleeves. Entirely tan." He eventually spits out amidst his flailing. 

"Oh! Yeah, he was there." 

Stiles gets a faraway look in his eye. "Is he really? Did he look sad?" 

Derek senses that this is a sensitive subject, and Stiles is close enough to hit him if he starts being accidentally insensitive again. "He looked tired. I think he misses you." 

Stiles laughs humorlessly, mouth curving inwards. "He's my father." 

Derek clears his throat awkwardly. "We have to make a decision. Do...do you want to alert your search party before the actual competition? Or do we want to wait?" 

"Where are they now?" Stiles's eyes are squinted. 

"Here in the woods. Scott's keeping them away from you right now." 

"What are they doing here?" 

Derek purses his lips. "Right now? Looking for your body." 

Stiles bites the knuckles on his right hand, and begins pacing. "Well that'll keep them busy. They won't believe I'm dead until they see a body. My family is the most persistent bunch of sons of bitches I know." He laughs, and it kind of sounds like a bark. "We can't let them know that I'm here. They think that werewolves are the devil's children. Demons from Hell. That's what we've always been taught. If they know that I've been alive all this time, it won't matter what I tell them. I can say that you're the next messiah, and all they'll think is that you've been brainwashing me. Stockholm Syndrome." The words confuse Derek, but he's more concerned with other things. 

"So you want to...what?" Derek asks, palms splayed. "What's the next move?" 

"You have to keep them with you." Stiles looks desperate. "You have to keep them close. But they can't know I'm here. At all. If we can keep them calm and out of the way until your tournament, then we should be able to keep them away from the werewolves. Believe me, they won't dare attack." 

Derek turns. "Why not?" 

Stiles takes a step forward. Sighs. Steps back. "Because they're here without permission." 

"What do you mean?" 

He looks as if it pains him. "There...there are these three people. We call them The Leaders. They have... _control_ over us." He spits the words. "We have to do as they say. The attacks. They're the ones who ordered them." 

"Why must you do what they say?" Derek asks. 

"You have to promise me not to tell anyone. I've never...gods, I've never even _thought_ of telling anyone this. Promise me!" Stiles says. 

"Of course, I promise." Derek steps towards the dragon. "Stiles, what are you not telling me?" 

The boy visibly swallows, his eyes catching on random spots on the forest ground. "Every dragon is born with a name. A dragon's name is his first tattoo: it's etched above the heart. The mother should be the first one to say it. Once she says it, she claims the child as her own. She holds the child's real name in custody until the dragon baby is old enough to take responsibility for his own name. Then she gives it away, and the dragon is in charge of himself.

"That's how our flock functioned. Until the Leaders. They began saying the names of the dragon children, capturing their names and holding them hostage to their every command. Every single one of us are captives to the Leaders. We must do exactly as they say when they use our real names with a command. No one else but they can do it, because they are the official holders." 

Derek listens to the entire spiel in horror. "Well how can we get you your name back?" He asks. 

Stiles shakes his head. "The Leaders either have to give it away willingly or be killed. Once the owner of the name is killed, the name can never be taken from the dragon again." 

"Haven't you ever tried killing them before?" 

"Of course we have. Ten years ago my mother led a resistance against them. However, they seem to have some kind of magic that lets them see our plans. They called out the names of the resistors and forced them to go out on a suicide mission against some werewolf villages. My mother and her followers were killed." 

"Stiles." Derek says, and opens his arms so the dragon can fall into them. "We'll find a way, I promise. Our plan will work. We'll find a way." 

They stay like that, huddled in the comfort of one another, for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeeah well it looks like we're getting towards the end. Maybe 1 or 2 chapters left. You guys are all seriously so amazing and you keep me inspired to write, so thank you.   
> And thanks for sticking with me!


	6. In Which A Werewolf & A Dragon Deal With The Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles have to figure out how they keep the dragons in line. Plus, Derek gets close and personal with all of Stiles's search party. Not good news for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow wow wow wow I'm so sorry for the lack of posting. It's been like 2 weeks. I could use a bunch of excuses (my parents are in the Dominican Republic right now, I've been living with three different families for the past few weeks, I have so many freaking tests!), but that's unfair because I had half of this chapter typed up until just last night. 
> 
> So sorry, but here you go! 
> 
> (THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER)

Derek takes it all back. This plan is stupid, he's stupid, Stiles is stupid, and they're all going to die. 

He's sweating profusely as he treks back through the forest, Stiles's scent-masking spell still tingling across his skin. When he sees Scott and the others come into view, he takes a breath in. Then out. It'll be okay. He approaches them, making sure he's in their line of sight. "It's going to be dark soon," he says to them, not quite meeting anyone's eye. "Please, come enjoy dinner with us and stay the night. We can regroup tomorrow. If you'd like, you can watch our last round of training tomorrow morning, and then Scott and I can take you back out here to search again." 

"But there's not re—" the leader starts. 

"Please." Derek says. "The woods are very dangerous at night." The group glares at him, but agrees. Scott begins to lead them away, Derek trailing behind. 

The dark-haired girl finds her place next to him, keeping pace. "So did you really shoot the dragon?" She asks cordially, but Derek knows it's a ruse. He wonders if this Allison is the badass best friend Stiles is always mentioning. He bets it is. 

"I shot it down," he says carefully, "with a net. But I didn't kill it." 

"You don't think you killed it," she corrects pointedly, snapping a twig beneath her foot. 

"I didn't kill him." Derek says firmly, because the idea of even hypothetically killing Stiles bothers and disturbs him deeply. She looks at him sideways, nods once, and looks straight ahead again, still right beside him. 

"You said we could watch the training tomorrow?" 

"Yes," he grunts. 

"Are you in it?" 

"Yes." 

"And your friend?" She nods her head towards Scott and her dark curls bounce. 

"No. It's against his nature to do anything like that unless he's defending the pack. He'll probably be watching, though." 

"What training like?" She asks. Then tacks on quickly "We don't do that sort of thing in our human village." 

Derek thinks about it in his head first, because if she actually is Stiles's friend than she's used to his stories and descriptions and words that paint an undeniably vivid picture in her mind. "Well we have this huge arena. It's all wooden and stone, the walls too high for us to climb and chains linked across the top to keep dragons from flying away. During training, our trainer preps a dragon for us and then lets it loose. He only gives us a limited number of resources each time, and most of the time they're totally unhelpful. The goal is to defeat the dragon. Make it use up all its shots or just weaken it enough to grab it and drag it back to its cage." 

"Its shots?" She asks. 

"Yeah, the number of times a dragon can shoot their fire without having to recharge somehow. If a dragon uses up all of its shots, we consider it dead and put it back in its cage." 

"So you don't actually kill any?" She looks startled. 

Derek shakes his head. "The main goal is to teach our pups to defend themselves. We don't want any more casualties than necessary." 

Allison looks flat-out guilty, and Derek thinks that she's lucky he knows about her, otherwise she might be giving herself away.

They get into town, where everyone has gone back to their everyday jobs. Vendors are yelling at passerbys to buy their products, and said passerbys are glaring meaningfully in their direction. Scott leads them all to Derek's house, which is where they would all be staying. Talia agrees to house them wholeheartedly, serving them dinner with gusto. Once they're all sitting awkwardly at the table, she leans forward, looking excited at the prospect of them all staying for training tomorrow. 

"Oh, you must all stay for a few days! The day after tomorrow is our Training Tournament, and this year it's one you will not want to miss." 

"Oh?" The leader, who has identified himself as Chris, asks. His icy blue eyes look like they're glowing. 

"Yes, we've all been excited about the pup pool this year. We have very strong pups, my son included." She looks up and smiles at him. "Derek is the best of all our trainees right now, according to both my brother Peter and one of our pack elders." 

Derek knows his ears are bright red, and he looks down at his plate of potatoes and beef. "That must be quite an accomplishment, Derek." Chris says. "You must be very proud," he directs at Talia. 

She smiles widely. "I am. My son has always been different, but it is this special part of him that makes him so good at chaining dragons. One day, he shall be one of our greatest war generals." 

Derek feels his eyes flash with discomfort. "Mother," he begins.

"Oh Derek, you know you will. You've been able to chain every dragon your uncle throws at you. There is no doubt in my mind that you will be the one to win the tournament." Her eyes are alight when she turns towards their company. "Just wait and see tomorrow. You'll be able to watch all the pups in action. They are all very impressive, but you will see why I boast of my son more than he would wish." She lets out another smirk. 

The guests all nod, pretending to be interested in the alpha, but Derek can feel each of their gazes lingering on him even though he refuses to look up. He focuses on the sound of his silverware clacking against his porcelain plate. He spares a glance up to see Stiles's father looking right at him, like he can see through his physical body and into his soul. The man doesn't look angry or spiteful, though. Instead, he looks wrecked; ruined and sad at the thought of his son being dead. It's worse than the latter, and Derek has trouble swallowing around the lump in his throat for the rest of the meal.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It's weird, but Stiles's dad—the man they call "Sheriff"—seeks him out after dinner. He finds the werewolf sitting just outside, perched on top of an old wooden picnic table in front of a large fire. Sheriff takes a seat next to him, laying his hands across his lap. 

"It's what we call a fire of life." Derek says, eyes never leaving the flames. "We keep them going all night to protect the people inside our houses. Every single residence has one, no matter how big or small." He pauses. "It proves how strong we are together when all of our fires are burning together, all at once." 

"That a nice thought," Sheriff says softly.

They sit in silence, and Derek can feel his palms sweating. He wonders what it would be like if werewolves and dragons got along, or if Stiles and his family and friends were werewolves as well. Would Derek have had to of met Sheriff before being able to take Stiles out dancing? Would he be friends with Allison and the ever-brilliant Lydia? Would he hate "Jackson the Douche?" Would he and Stiles even look twice at each other? 

Derek steals a glance at Sheriff and he can just imagine the man cleaning his weapon right in front of Derek, smiling threateningly. He can see the guy planting a wolfsbane garden to scare him, hiding mountain ash around Stiles's room (or at least bed arrangements). 

Derek secretly wonders what it would be like to ask the Sheriff for Stiles's hand in mating. He wonders if Stiles and him would have a "wedding." He thinks of the look on Stiles's face as they swing in circles at their mating ceremony. He wonders what being life mated to Stiles Stilinski would be like, and for a moment he lets himself go, lets himself fantasize. 

Sheriff clears his throat and Derek jolts, forgetting that the man was even there. "I have a son," he says, hands clasped. "And you remind me of him because of how much you aren't like him." He chuckles. "My son is loud, and impulsive, and he's the most gangly thing you've ever met. He lacks all kind of poise and has manners, but usually forgets to use them." He stops, and turns from the fire to Derek. "He's been missing for a while, and I miss him. But you remind me of him by being almost everything he's not. And in some odd, twisted way, I want to thank you for that." 

Derek looks over, surprised. But he quickly schools his expression and feigns ignorance. "You talk about him like he's already gone." 

Sheriff shakes his head. "Like I said, he's been gone a long time. I'm not sure if he's ever coming back. Even if he was alive, I wouldn't blame him for staying away." 

Derek swallows. They're getting into territory that he's not comfortable and definitely not experienced with. He's got to play it right. "I think any son would be happy to have a father like you and friends like the ones inside," he starts, "and would do whatever he thinks is right for them." 

The old man smiles a little. "That's Stiles." 

"Stiles?" 

"My son," he backtracks, eyes glazing over as he looks into the fire. "My wife was killed when he was about ten, and I've always wondered if I'm enough for him." Sheriff looks at Derek seriously. "If he had the chance to leave, I'd want him to take it." 

Derek refuses to look at him again. "No disrespect sir, but why are you telling me all this?" 

Sheriff eyes Derek, a smirk playing silently at his mouth. "I believe you've met my son." 

Derek, so startled at the nonchalance in the man's voice that he chokes on air for a second, immediately goes on the defensive. "Why would you think that?" 

He smiles. "You may be a good liar, but I've trained all my life to pick lies from truths. You've been hiding the fact that you've met my son." Derek sits quietly, staring at the fire. He neither confirms nor denies it. "It's okay," Sheriff says. "I'm actually grateful that you've kept quiet. Chris can be a bit...impulsive. But please, tell me he's alright." 

Derek swallows, wondering if this is somehow a trap, but realizes that the man hasn't lied to him once since he's been here. "He's fine." Derek says, and the Sheriff almost cries out in relief. "He lost his foot and shin, but we made him another one and he's been learning how to use it. He...he misses you all, but he can't come home to you yet." 

Sheriff shakes his head. "I don't want him to. I want him to fake his death, make sure he's completely removed from our lives. But before he leaves for good, you have to tell him that he has to take Lydia with him. We'll arrange a time and place, but she needs to leave. If the Leaders think him dead, then he'll be able to get in and out with her with no problems." 

Derek shakes his head. "It won't be necessary, sir. We have a plan." 

Sheriff immediately pales. "No no no. Stiles's plans are always a little...defective, to put it nicely. It's not his fault." 

Derek merely lets a little grin show on his face. "It's okay. Our plan will work. Hopefully." He leans in closer. "We have the right people on our side, and I can promise you that Stiles and I will do everything we can to help your people be free from the Leaders' reign." 

Sheriff shakes his head. "It's not safe. They have power over us that we cannot break or deny. We have to do their bidding." 

Derek's eyes flash in the dark. "That's why you'll have us on your side. I promise that we won't give up." Derek pauses. "What kind of dragon are they anyway, to be this strong and have so much willpower?" 

"They aren't dragons." Sheriff says. "They're werewolves." 

"Werewolves? My mother is the only alpha within this piece of land, not counting Scott. She knows every wolf because this entire island is our jurisdiction." 

"They're wolves. Three, and all alphas." 

"Oh my god." Derek rubs his face. "This complicates things, but it also means that we think like they do. It might make taking them down easier." He shakes his head. "Don't worry, Sheriff, we'll make sure that we're prepared. We'll free you all." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"My dad knows!?" Stiles exclaims, throwing his hands into the air with gusto. "You told him!?" 

Derek rolls his eyes, overexposed and already used to Stiles's ability to make everything over-the-top. "He figured it out, Stiles. Your dad isn't stupid." 

"Well of course he's not stupid. He's my dad!" Stiles looks at the sky, then sighs into the palm of his hand. "How the hell is this going to work? I have no clue what I'm doing, you have no clue what you're doing, and we're all going to die." 

"No no no no no no no. You can't start doing this now, because otherwise I'm going to get too nervous." Derek stares right into Stiles's eyes. "I'm already nervous to talk in front of my entire pack. I can't not have you on my side for this." 

Stiles's smile is almost watery and he rubs the back of his head with the flat of his palm. "Dude, we've been together on this from day one. I'm not gonna cop out on you now." 

"I've told you to stop calling me dude," the wolf says fondly. 

"Never stopped me before," the dragon responds. 

"Can I do something?" Derek asks, looking anywhere but Stiles. "Can I do something that I've never actually had the courage to do?" 

He can hear Stiles stepping closer, but still refuses to look towards the boy. "What do you want to do?" His voice is considerably lower, lost its playful tone. 

"Kiss you," he admits, face burning. Derek can't stop looking at a rock right beside Stiles's left foot because it grounds him, keeps him from throwing up everything he's eaten in the last day. 

"Do it." The dragon says, and when Derek looks up he sees Stiles right in front of him, lips parted and eyes fluttering closed. His eyelashes are long and cast a flickering shadow across his cheekbones. Derek doesn't want to keep the kid waiting, the damn thing's been waiting for everything in his life long enough, and he closes the gap, eyes squinted shut the second he feels his lips on Stiles's. It's awkward because immediately Stiles begins doing things with his mouth like he's experienced, and Derek has no clue in hell what he's supposed to be doing. He experiments, moving his lips a little too much, but mostly allows Stiles to lead. It's like their dance, he realizes. A leader and a follower. He lets Stiles take his lips in his own, and Derek probes an opening with his tongue. In all his seventeen years of life he hasn't felt something so good, and it fills him with a warmth he's only truly recognized a few times. Happiness. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Derek reluctantly leaves Stiles not long after, his swollen lips still buzzing with the taste and feel of the dragon boy. The last thing he wants to do is walk away from their moment, their time at last, but this is the most important training session he'll attend in his entire life. He can't afford to be late and missing it isn't even an option. 

This training will be attended by all of the "human" group, a few elders, Scott, and his mother. The pack elders and alphas are required by tradition to attend and watch, silently sizing each pup up for tomorrow's tournament. 

Derek and the rest of the pups stand in a circle, receiving a pep talk from Peter. "Now, I haven't been doing this for a long time, but I know dragons. These dragons are feisty, they're mean, and they're fighting for their lives. Now more than ever. If you think you can feel the excitement in the air, just imagine what it's like for creatures that are attuned to magic? They're practically buzzing with the atmosphere. They know something's up, and the brilliant self-centered little bastards think that we're slaughtering them all tonight, as if they're important enough to have a huge get-together for." 

Peter surveys them all. "I want each and every one of you to knock these dragons off of their high metaphorical horses. They think they're the dominant species and that they can beat you, but I promise that you all are smarter and stronger than these assholes. Show 'em what you got." He claps Derek on the shoulder and shoots encouraging glances at all the rest of the pups as they break the circle. 

They each gear up as fast as possible, helping each other with armor and choosing their weapons. Derek still takes nothing but his father's dagger, the one he almost ended Stiles's life with all those weeks ago. Has it only been weeks? Or months? It feels like years since the night Derek shot the Night Fury from the sky and befriended it, grew to love it. He doesn't regret it. 

He sizes himself up in a huge breath, watching the twins as they punch each others' armor, testing the tightness. Every pup here is willing to kill a dragon to continue the fight their parents before them started, and every single one will not hesitate in doing so. It makes Derek question his own character. Is he a failure as a member of the pack because of his reluctancy—his inability—to kill what's supposed to be the werewolves' sworn enemy? Derek himself doesn't believe it makes him a monster...it makes him human. 

Derek follows Cora into the arena, squinting at the sudden burst of sunlight but then letting his eyes adjust almost immediately. Every pup is standing in wait, shifting around on their toes and very aware of the curious eyes trained on their every move. Derek looks over at the "human" group. They're all sitting erect in their seats, looking like birds trapped in a cage. Chris is already analyzing the arena, as if to weigh all his options and find plenty of ways to escape. His eyes flicker over every crevice of the place, and they narrow slightly when he finds what he must deem as a suitable getaway. 

Allison seems to be studying every pup in the arena, and he can just imagine her thought process. He wonders if she'd like Erica, if she'd find Boyd's stoic silence charming or unsettling, if the twins would endear or annoy her. He wonders if she'd take Isaac under her wing as he had, all those years ago, and seen the sweet wolf behind the silent asshole. He muses that she'd be fast friends with Cora and while they'd spar like sisters, they'd share battle tactics and talk fashion. 

Sheriff is the most comfortable of them all, eyes gazing around the arena lazily. He even smiles a bit at Derek, but then quickly moves his eyes towards other people, other things. Derek very briefly meets Allison's gaze and she gives him a little wave. He smiles back, then turns towards the cage where the dragon is going to emerge. They wait as Peter goes over to one side of the opening and lifts the latch, revealing a dragon. 

"Who can tell me what kind of dragon this is?" He yells at the pups over a strange wind that starts to blow immediately after he unhooks the latch. 

"But we can't see it!" Ethan yells back. 

"Exactly," Derek grunts, already running out of the way. Cora, always one to trust her brother's instincts, follows him blindly. It turns out to be a good idea, because there's...something attacking the twins. 

It looks like a small cloud of mist, but Derek can pick out some claws and small flashes of something shiny once in a while. The twins have long since wolfed out, and are battering at the thing with extended claws and fangs. One of them lets out a sharp yelp, and the other follows with a frustrated bark, but the misty cloud continues to fight them, flitting up and up. 

"What is it, Derek?" Cora yells, and over her head Derek can see Erica asking Boyd the same question. Derek knows that Boyd knows the answer, because he distinctly remembers the time after lessons when Boyd had approached him, excited at the newest dragon find. 

The two boys answer in unheard unison: "A Smothering Smokebreath." 

Derek still remembers the light in usually dull Boyd's eyes as he told Derek of the discovery. 

"Everyone thought these dragons were myth! But Derek, they found one. They saw a whole pack! Look!" Young Boyd flips his personal Dragonpedia so Derek can see, and sure enough there's a rough drawing of what the new dragon is rumored to look like. 

"It's called a Smothering Smokebreath, and no one's been able to chain one in at least a hundred years! That's why everyone though they were either extinct or a myth!" Boyd's eyes are wide as he carefully closes the book and cradles it to his chest. "Just imagine all the dragons that are out there that we don't even know about." He gets a faraway look in his eyes. "There's still so much to know." 

Derek shares an eye lock with Boyd—who nods at him once, solemnly—before watching him and Erica run to help the twins. Isaac's already got himself in on the fight, and his gold eyes flash brilliantly as he yelps with angry thrashes of his claws. The Smothering Smokebreath is definitely kicking their butts, but the pups are nothing if not persistent. 

Erica's already abandoned the fight and is running towards the weapon wall, looking to find something suitable. Derek watches as she grabs a mace and lugs it back to the fight. "Oh no," he murmurs, and turns to Cora. "Are we going to help?" 

She smirks at him. "I've just been waiting for your command, Captain." He rolls his eyes at her mocking words and jerks his head towards the fight, leading her into a losing battle. Derek fears that someone will kill the dragon, leaving everything he said to Allison a lie and making the dragon group watch one of their own die. 

Also, Derek often wonders about the human inside the dragon. Is it one of Stiles's friends? An old neighbor? Is it someone completely random but still not worth any less? Is it an old man whose years are almost behind him, or a young child who's merely relying on pure instinct to help them live through this? 

Erica begins to swing the mace in the air, which takes most of her strength and leaves her wobbly and inaccurate. The Smothering Smokebreath's smoky veil dissipates slightly, and Derek looks directly into terrified yellow eyes. Then the dragon turns away and lashes out at Ethan with its spiky tail, sending him sprawling and bleeding. He stays on the ground, letting himself heal, which is probably in his best interest. 

Erica—by some miracle—just barely nicks the dragon, but it falters in its menacing circles and becomes startled enough that it begins to breathe hot fire at them. "Damn it! It couldn't just have smoke, could it!?" Erica screeches, running for a shield. The fire looks like Scott's welding fire back at the shop, and Derek fleetingly wonders if it, too, can burn through metal. 

"Where there's smoke, there's fire," Boyd grunts, using his own shield with teeth-grinding effort. The heat blast is hot, and soon his shield is nothing in his hands. The dragon advances on Boyd, obviously readying another fire shot, when Derek takes the dragon's startling focus by surprise and jumps on top of it, careful of the sharp tail. He can hear some people gasp, and Cora is definitely yelling at him, but he's determined. He lets his hand probe quickly for the right spot, the spot right below the chin that makes dragons....

The Smothering Smokeback falls weak at the knees when Derek scratches the soft spot on his chin, and he uses this moment to yell back at the other pups. "Open the cage!" 

Isaac and Cora sprint to the hatch and unlatch it. Derek continues to keep his fingers scratching over the spot, the dragon limp as he drags it to the cage. He finally releases his fingers from the spot and pushes the dragon the rest of the way into the cage. When Isaac and Cora have the cage securely latched, he breathes a sigh of relief and turns towards the pups. The dragon wasn't hurt. 

He can't really say the same for his pack, but they'll heal within the hour, so he's not worried. When Derek finally musters up the courage to look up at the stands, he sees his mother and Scott beaming proudly, the elders nodding their heads contemplatively, and the other dragons...well. They're all looking at Derek in a mixture of awe, horror, and interest. This alpha's son turned out to be everything they were told and more, able to take down a dragon with seemingly no effort. And at once, Derek knows what they see him as.

A monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like we've got about one chapter to go! Maybe two, depending on how wordy I want to get. But just know that this story is officially wrapping up. I appreciate every single one of you.
> 
> If you liked this chapter and this story, please comment any critiques or thoughts, and leave some love (kudos)!


	7. In Which a Werewolf & a Dragon Face the Music (Metaphorically)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Plan is finally put to action. Well....we'll see how it turns out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating from the wifi of a huge ass charter bus (which is not good wifi so I'm sorry) and also I haven't updated in 3 weeks wow you can hate me it's okay
> 
> Unfortunately (fortunately?) this is _still_ not the last chapter. Oops. I think this might be my subconscious telling me that I don't want this story to end (but I kind of do). 
> 
> Ahah I hope you guys enjoy and don't hate me too much for the confusion I leave you with. Thanks everyone, I appreciate you all!

Stiles convinces Derek to sneak out that night and spend the remaining time they have before the tournament together. Derek manages it by telling his mom that he wants time to gather his thoughts. Alone. She had merely given a small smile and a "Just like your father," before telling him to pack provisions, sleep well, and show up on time on the morning. He promises that he will. 

It's late when he arrives at Stiles's camp, and he's surprised to see Stiles sitting cross-legged on a bed of lilies, illuminated by a fire crackling beside him. The flowers' pollen is disturbed when the dragon startles, opening his eyes and looking up at Derek. "Sorry, I always get a little immersed in my prayer." His cheeks are red in the firelight, and he looks back down at his flower cushion. "I never mean for them to grow, but they always do." 

"What were you praying about?" Derek asks, joining Stiles on the ground. 

"I was praying for your safety. For my safety. For the safety of everyone I love. Tomorrow...tomorrow could go so badly, and I just want to make sure that everyone makes it out okay." 

Derek looks down at his lap. "I've been making offerings to the gods lately," he admits. "I don't do it often." 

"You guys have multiple gods?" Stiles asks, intrigued. 

"Well yeah." 

"Tell me about them," Stiles says, pulling his knees to his chest and rubbing his nose. 

Derek pauses, wondering how to start. Eventually he takes a breath. "Lupa is the great werewolf mother. She gave birth to the first of our kind, and we are all descendants of her. Or at least all of my pack is. Lupa bore her children from herself and the moon, and named them Remus and Romulus. This is why all werewolves are fully in touch and in synch with the moon and her cycles. Lupa had a brother though, Fenrir, and he viciously raped a human woman. She was forced to bear his children, and thus his line of wicked and warped werewolves were born." Derek pauses, in thought. "I imagine this is the line in which your Leaders come from." 

"That's so interesting," Stiles muses. His eyes have a faraway glaze to them. "Many gods." He thinks some more, and Derek lets him. Finally, he's ready to talk again. "Our religion is only one God. Capital g. He—or She—looks over all of the dragon race. We only exist to serve Him, and do good to our people. My race strongly believes that life is not a battle, but a dance." 

Stiles pauses, and his eyes don't leave the fire. "The teachings of our God are about love and compassion, rebirth and new life. Yet we're being forced to inflict pain and torture, death and destruction. Our fire brings no life, it brings a permanent sleep!" He swallows, eyes fluttering shut as he composes himself. "I often find myself wondering what God thinks of us now. As He watches His dragon-children, His _creations,_ murder other living beings. It doesn't matter that they do not follow or worship Him as we do. Life is life, no matter the religion. We pray a lot. Together, separate, devoted. We love worship sessions, but they consist of a lot of dancing and a lot of flowers and acts of love." He looks more than melancholy. "We don't have many celebrations anymore. Dad said that they used to have a lot back before the Leaders took over." 

Derek leans over and gathers Stiles into his arms, and the dragon boy complies. "We'll bring back the days of celebration and worship and love, I promise." 

"I know," Stiles says simply, pulling back a little to look Derek in the eye. "I trust you." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Derek wakes up with Stiles wrapped entirely around his body, rising and falling as he breathes. The two have seemed to connect during the night, arms grasping and legs twining, and Derek stares at Stiles's gaped mouth for a little while before slowly beginning the untangling process. 

Stiles wakes up in the middle of it, smiling sleepily at Derek. "Morning." 

Derek wonders if he would get this warm feeling in his stomach every morning if he woke up next to Stiles. He guesses yes. "Morning," he chokes back, voice gruffer than usual. 

Stiles yawns and stretches while Derek grabs them bread from the basket. He splits it and hands half to Stiles. "So today is the day," Stiles says quietly, biting into the crust. Derek nods, silent in his musings. "Do you know what you're going to say?" 

"I have an idea," he says, "but werewolves are stubborn. Who knows if they'll want to listen or believe me." He sighs. "I'm really glad we have Scott on our side." 

"Me too," Stiles laughs. It's hollow. "Not that I don't trust that you can get the job done, but I'm insanely afraid that the werewolves would kill you without at least one alpha on your side." 

"Oh believe me, insane ranting or not my mom would kill anyone who tried to threaten me." 

"That's comforting," Stiles says, but his voice is unusually high-pitched. He avoids Derek's eyes as he sits down to strap on his foot. His fingers are shaky and they fail to buckle it. 

Derek turns to him, completely serious, and stands there until the dragon finally looks at him. His eyes are locked entirely on Stiles's. "I promise you that all of this will work out." 

"I want it to work out Derek, I really do, but now there's more at stake. There's not just hope. Now there's my family's freedom. There's my father's remaining time. There's my friends' futures." He steps closer. "And for risk of sounding incredibly stupid and mushy and annoying...there's you." Blood draws from his lip as he chews, Derek can smell it from the foot away that he is. "I really, really can't lose you now Derek." 

Derek shakes his head. "I understand what we might be losing, but the gains are too great. These are risks we have to take. You think I'm happy about this? For risk of sounding like a total girl, I'm terrified of losing _you_." He reaches a hand up and brushes Stiles's cheek. "We're in this together, and we'll finish off all of those Leader bastards." He kneels down next to Stiles and rebuckles the prosthetic, then gives the dragon boy a reassuring smile. "I promise." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Getting through town is a lot easier than Derek thought. He makes Stiles wear his clothes from the previous night so his smell is masked by both his own spell and Derek's scent, and Derek keeps both of their heads low as he navigates through the endless sea of merchants. Stiles is muttering different incantations under his breath to keep the masking spell fresh and somehow manages to bump into almost every person they pass. Luckily most people are in such a hurry to get to the sparring arena that they don't even spare the two teens another glance. 

When they arrive at the side gate where Derek and the rest of the teenagers are supposed to enter through to wait for their turn to fight, the boys see that Peter's standing in front of it, making sure nobody without clearance tries to get in. He's greeting each pup with an eye roll and a fond pat on the back, which makes Derek smile a little. He always knew his uncle was a softie. 

"We can't go that way," Derek says. "Come on, you can wait in the dragon wing instead of the training one." 

"Fitting," Stiles snorts, and lets the werewolf lead him to a different side door. They have someone vaguely watching it, just standing a few yards beside it and monitoring crowd regulation, and the werewolf guard just gives Derek a nod and lets him wander inside. It's dark and insanely humid, with walls made of stone slabs surrounding them in an endless grey. It feels like all the moisture has been taken out of the air. It takes most of Derek's self control not to gasp desperately for air. 

"I've only been in here a few times, and each time it gets even worse." Derek whispers, though there's no need to. No one can hear them but the dragons. "I wish we could let them out now." 

Stiles places a hand on Derek's. "It would jeopardize everything. We can worry about them later, when we can actually help." 

"I know," Derek nods in understanding. "I can wish, though." 

"We won't be wishing for much longer," Stiles says, smiling wryly. Derek nods. Right. They're actually doing something. Derek leads Stiles to the end of the tunnel, where the cave suddenly opens up and long iron bars cover an opening to the outside. The dragon doors. Derek stands in front of them with Stiles, shuffling them into the shadows. He faces the dragon boy, holding his hands tightly in his own and never letting his eyes wander from the boy's face. 

"Uh, Derek? They're going to be wondering where you are." 

"I know," he murmurs, and pulls Stiles against him. He hooks his chin onto his back and rubs his face into Stiles's neck. 

"Derek..." Stiles warns, and the werewolf presses a soft kiss into his neck before pulling away. 

"I'll be back soon. Wait for my signal, I'll make it pretty obvious." 

Stiles nods. "Okay. Please be safe." 

"You too." 

They give each other a chaste look and then Derek's gone. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They kick off the tournament with Boyd. There's a lot of extremely loud expletives and cheers getting battered around the arena, which can easily be pinpointed back to Boyd's uncountable brothers and sisters. He raises a single hand to them all, and each one explodes even more. His weapon of choice is a battle club, and Derek knows that he's chosen well. Boyd, though big, brute, and strong, isn't really much for killing nor unnecessary violence, and Derek knows that the large werewolf is not looking forward to this tournament. 

Peter unleashes the first dragon to reveal a gronkle, which Derek finds extremely unfair. All the pups know how to defeat it and everything, and Boyd easily overpowers the dragon by making loud noises with his club and running circles around the slow dragon, making it extremely confused before tricking it into using all its shots. As Derek watches them chain the dragon back up, he wonders what Stiles is thinking about all of this. Derek inadvertently finds his eyes wandering into the crowd and stopping at the dragon clan, still disguised as humans. He wonders what they think of it all, but their faces are carefully guarded, every single one sitting with a blank expression on their face. They clap when necessary, but Derek knows this kills them to watch. 

He hopes Stiles is doing okay by himself. 

Cora's up next, and he can't help the pride he feels when she picks a sturdy sword and a practical shield before facing the cage. Their uncle unlatches it and reveals a Monstrous Nightmare. Cora fights it valiantly, able to dodge its fire and jump away when it bursts into flames, and eventually makes it use up all its shots. Derek and his mother and sister easily cheer the loudest. Cora finds his eyes and smiles as she walks back to the rest of the pups, and Derek hugs her. "You did amazing," he says, inhaling her smoky scent. It faintly reminds him of Stiles. 

"You're up after Erica," she says, gesturing towards where Erica is swinging her axe at a Thornridge. Derek smiles a little at the blonde's enthusiasm and gives a minuscule shrug.

"So?" 

"Aren't you nervous?" Cora is instinctively holding her entire body against his, providing him comfort through contact. 

"Not really. I trust that everything will be alright." Derek puts his arm around her shoulders and turns them so they're both watching Erica. They look as she clips the beast's wings and causes it to cry out, falling to the ground. Erica quickly chains it back to its cage and then lifts her arms in violent victory. She's viciously proud of herself, and she should be. 

Derek turns Cora so she's facing him and he pulls her in close, inhaling her scent. She smells like home beneath the ashes and fire, like childhood and memories—good and bad. "I love you, Cora," he says, and then lets her go, glancing once more at her features before striding out into the bright sunlight of the arena. His mind dances with the look on Cora's face, as if she somehow knows— _how could she know she can't it's impossible_ —what is going to happen, and is positive that Derek will be killed because of it. 

Derek inhales deeply, oxygen flooding his lungs as it never has before. The crowd bursts into loud peals of applause and hooting, excited for the most promising candidate to show off his skills. Derek feels sick. He wants to throw up and then curl up in his bed and never leave the comfort of his blankets. He wants to back out, but know that he can't. 

He resists the strong urge to look back at where Stiles is undoubtfully standing, watching him. He wonders if the dragon's heart is beating as fast as his own is. 

Peter unlatches the cage and the Hideous Zippleback comes gangling out, its two necks flailing in a way that reminds Derek of Stiles's arms. The two heads of the dragon both rear in unison at the sight of Derek. So they do remember him. This is the dragon Derek showed his respect to all those weeks ago, and the heads seem about as reluctant to attack him as he is to them.

Derek stands in front of it, father's pocketknife tight in his sweaty, white-knuckled grip. _"Not the weapon I would have picked,"_ he hears his mother say. Derek tries to block out the crowd. 

In front of everyone, he holds his knife high in the air and closes the blade, slowly, to make sure everyone is watching. Then he places the knife in his pocket and sets his shoulders so he's squared to the Hideous Zippleback. He bends one leg behind him and lets his body bow low to the dragon. He stays down for a small while, and he can hear the intensely sharp breaths coming from the dragons in the stand. He thinks he can hear Sheriff chuckling. 

When he raises his head to see the dragon's reaction, he can see that the heads are already dipping low—almost to the ground—and the dragon does not spew its foggy gas. Derek lifts himself up and the dragon does the same, and with some hesitation Derek takes a step towards the dragon. He doesn't have to move any further before the dragon closes the distance, putting its sparking head right next to him. He reaches out a hand, and every single werewolf in the stadium growls as he begins to pet the dragon's head. 

"Friends. Family. Pack." He says loudly, hand still on the dragon's head. "We have been one unit for a long time." He looks up at all of them, knowing they can hear every word with uncertain clarity. "But we have had an enemy this whole time: the dragons." He turns back to the Hideous Zippleback and takes his time to gather his thoughts. "And why?" He yells to the crowd. "Why do we fight them?" 

"Because they attack us!" He can hear Scott helpfully yelling from the crowd as he makes his way down to the fighting circle where Derek is. 

"Exactly. We fight them because they attack us. But why do they attack us? Ever thought of that? Do you think they take our stuff because they _want_ to? Because they just hate werewolves _that much?"_

"They're stupid animals, they can't want or hate anything, they just destroy." Aiden says, not understanding how helpful he's actually being. 

Derek points to him, but looks at the masses. Scott is by his side now, and he feels a lot more confident. "That's what we've been taught to think! That's what we've thought our whole life." He's yelling now, "But we were wrong!" Some of the werewolves flinch. "Dragons are our brothers! Brother and sister shapeshifters just as much as the werecoyotes and the kitsunes are. To kill them is to kill pack. Here, watch as we prove it." 

He turns his eyes to the dragon cage, and Stiles comes walking out, looking more than a little awkward. "Stiles!" Allison screams from the crowd, and Derek turns to see Chris holding a sobbing Allison down, hand clamped over her mouth. The werewolves in the crowd are looking increasingly shifter, and Derek knows he'll have tossed this up to keep them listening. 

"This is Stiles. I shot him down in the last raid. He had lost his leg and I found him." Derek looks at Stiles, who smiles at him to continue. "I'll admit, when we met we hated each other. He didn't trust me at all and I thought he was insanely rude." Derek takes a breath an swallows hard. "But eventually we came to tolerate...even _like_ each other." He gets lost in Stiles's whiskey eyes for a moment before he's jolted back to reality. "Scott found out and promised to help us. We devised a plan, and we found that the dragons were not attacking us because they want to, but because they _have_ to. They're under the power of three controlling alphas, who use the dragon's real names to control them. They have no choice!

"Stiles is my friend." Derek says. "Over these few weeks I've come to love him, and the only way the dragons can be freed from this suppression is to go in and kill the alphas. They cannot fight it, but the alphas can't control us, and the only way to stop our long feud is to help them." 

Stiles places a hand on Derek's shoulder and steps into line with him. "My people have been controlled for too long. We are peaceful creatures, and we don't want to attack you and your pack. The alphas that control us are ruthless, and want to rule this entire island. Please, on behalf of my people, help us." 

When Derek has the gall to look up, he sees that a few of the crowd is wolfed out and his mother has a look on her face that he's never seen. It's not rage, which is a good thing he supposes, but he wonders what she's thinking. Laura however, looks horrified. 

"Maybe they need proof." Scott says. He looks at Stiles pointedly. 

Stiles pauses for a moment. "Sure." 

When he shifts, all hell breaks loose.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Derek sees everything as if it's in a dream. First almost everyone in the crowd goes insane. Most shift and they immediately begin to crowd the fighting arena. Derek finds himself caught up in the energy of the pack and he shifts as well. Most of the pack members can do a full shift, which they only use during battle, and they use this now. 

Luckily Stiles seems to understand the danger he'll be in if he shifts back and he flaps his wings to stay out of the way of the angry wolves. The Hideous Zippleback does the same, seemingly communicating with Stiles through just eye movements. 

Derek comes into contact with an angry adult wolf. _Slash._ Blood drips from a gash in his face. He knows what it means. _Traitor._ Another adult wolf nips at his calf and it goes deep enough to hit a tendon. Derek falls. Alarmed, Stiles swoops down to help and gets his wing clipped by a claw. Angrily, he roars, and gets a scratch to his underbelly for it. 

Derek feels more claws touch his skin as he roars in anger at the wolves hurting Stiles. "Stop!" He yells, but he's drowned out by the wolves each taking their turn disowning him. He slowly comes to the realization that he's not healing, not connected to the pack, losing all feeling in his head and fingers and heart. He lets himself fall entirely to the ground, fingers numbly touching the first huge hash in his forehead. The ground is warm, incredibly warm, the first is getting caught in his hair, mixing with his soul, and he feels everything and nothing. His vision goes black. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Stiles is pissed. He breathes light fire on the wolves surrounding Derek, desperately trying to get them away from him, but all it does is anger them more when their hairs light afire. One rears up high enough to slice his wing, and he transforms as he hits he ground. 

"Stiles!" A clear scream rings up through the crowd, and suddenly he can see two more dragons: Allison and Chris. Stiles manages to crawl to Derek, who is out completely cold. 

"Derek?" He asks. Derek's wounds aren't healing and he's growing increasingly paler. "Derek!?" His voice is edging on hysteria, and he doesn't even pay attention to the blood dripping down his own arm from his wing damage. "Why isn't he healing?" He asks, but no one is even paying attention to them now that Allison and Chris are on the scene. Allison screeches at the wolves that get too close, and she looks so dangerous coiled as she is. "Changewing!" They scream, and Stiles guesses that that's the name they call her type of dragon, like how they call him a Night Fury. 

"Help!" Stiles screams, but his voice is hoarse with emotion. "Please!" In a panic, Stiles finds his hand wandering to Derek's chest and begins to hyperventilate when he doesn't feel a heartbeat. He slams his ear over Derek's heart. No heartbeat. " _Help!"_ He screams, and begins doing a procedure he's seen his father do a few times in which you have to shove your hands repeatedly into the person's chest to get their heart going again. CPR or PRC or something along those lines. He roughly shoves down on Derek's chest. "Please please please," he chants, and slowly the battle around him falls away. He can only focus on Derek, his pale skin his pale lips his dark hair the red gash. There's nothing else. 

"Stiles." He hears a voice, and when he looks up he can see Alpha Talia through the snot and tears that blur his vision completely. "Stiles, my son will not recover. To be what he was" 

He lets out a wail. "No!" He continues CPR on the unresponsive body, and doesn't even notice that everyone is silent, that everyone is barely breathing. They watch the desperate dragon try to revive his lover, revive what they once had. 

Talia places a hand on his shoulder and grips hard. "Stiles. It's time to leave him." She has a silent tear streak down her face, but doesn't bother to wipe it away. "We must take him back to the house and then talk over battle plans." 

Stiles sniffs loudly, eyes not leaving Derek. "Battle plans?" 

"You have proved your devotion to my son and your sincerity. We are obligated to help you." She says solemnly. 

Stiles is silent for a moment before shipping his head up angrily at her. "Proved my _devotion!?!?" He screeches. "Your son is _dead!_ I _loved him!_ Your own pack killed him!" His voice is incredibly high, and it chokes up in between most of his words. _

_"Stiles." Talia says, incredibly calm. "Derek is not dead."_

_"Not dead?" Stiles stands and laughs cruelly. "His heart isn't beating. His skin is pale and cold. Not dead my _ass."_ He hiccups a sob and claps his hand over his mouth to try and control it. _

_Talia looks out into the crowd and nods her head at someone. Laura and Cora comes oil forward, faces blank and eyes red with tears. The two girls each pick up one end of their brother and begin to carry him towards the house. "If you and your dragon friends could come with us, we really do need to discuss some things."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OoooooOoooOoooooooooooooooo
> 
> Love is in the air 
> 
> Please leave some feedback, a comment, or some kudos if you enjoyed it! Thanks everyone, it helps a lot!


	8. In Which A Werewolf & A Dragon Finally End It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I guess this is the battle. (It's not that intense don't get excited)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took like a month to update wow wow I'm sorry

Alpha Hale's house is huge. It has imposing pillars around the whole thing and is too dark for such a light town. Odd hedges grow around it yet it still looks rustic and cabin-like along with regal. She leads Stiles into the house through the front door and while Laura and Cora peel off to put Derek on a cot, Talia takes Stiles to a study. Scott follows.

Having Scott there makes him feel more comfortable, but also makes the entire thing more awkward. Stiles can tell that the alphas don't spend much time in each other's personal territories, and it makes them uneasy. 

"I don't want to continue until you give me answers." Stiles crosses his arms, voice still wavering and scratchy from his screams. 

Talia, regal as always, turns and looks at him delicately. "I promise everything will make sense, Stiles. But you must trust us for now. Battle plans are first." 

Stiles grunts in frustration, but realizes that the Alpha is not going to budge. 

"Good. Now as a sign of goodwill, I will allow you to bring in the dragons you feel are necessary for the planning. However many you'd like." 

Stiles doesn't even think. "Only three. Chris, Allison, and the one they call Sheriff." Talia nods and whispers to a beta that's standing by the open study door. The beta nods and hurries off. 

"Since that is all taken care of, let's look at a few things and get others set straight." Talia walks behind the huge cherry desk and sits at a chair behind it. She motions for Stiles and Scott to sit as well, but both refuse. "First off, tell me about these Leaders." 

Stiles does. He explains how they've taken over since before he was born, around the time his grandparents were his age, and they controlled new dragon babies by taking their true names. He tells her about their awful claws, and how Lydia leaves their Leader House with scars on the back of her neck and a face white as ash. He carefully describes the arranged marriages and breeding between families and even...even the experiments. 

"Whenever they feel they've found a new breakthrough, the Leaders try their experiments to test the hypotheses. One time, they took Lydia's grandmother and drilled a hole in her head to see if her dragon type really had the foretold 'third eye' that could see things beyond our world." Stiles shudders. "They found nothing but her brain." 

Talia keeps her face carefully composed, but her eyes are fierce and on fire. Stiles can tell that she's absolutely livid. "Anything else?" 

He pauses. "Not that I can think of. You obviously know that they use us as unwilling soldiers for their cause. They always talk about their endgame and how they're going to achieve it." 

"What is their endgame?" Scott interjects for the first time. 

"They want to control this island and become emperors of a land of dragons," Chris Argent says as he walks through the door, begin pushed by a beta. "We will be their slaves, and them our masters. We will make them an unstoppable army." His mouth is in a grim line, eyes emotionless as always. Stiles's father always told him that it makes Chris even more dangerous, but more of a leader as well. 

"Watch it!" Stiles can hear Allison snarling at a rough beta, and when she finally turns to see him, her smile widens. "Stiles!" She says, then launches herself into his arms. "You would not believe how happy I was when I saw you in that arena," she says softly into his ear, gripping onto him tightly. "You're alive." 

"Of course I am. I'm probably the hardest damn dragon to kill," he says soothingly, smiling into her hair. She pulls away way too soon, in his opinion, but he quickly sees why. "Dad." He says, voice choked. 

"Stiles," his dad's eyes well with unshed tears. The two embrace, their bond as the last remaining family of each other becoming complete once more. That's all they say, but once they pull away from each other, they know that it's really all they have to say.

Chris clears his throat. "So what's the next step?" 

Talia's piercing eyes penetrate everyone in the room before she nods at one of her betas. "Close the door," she says. Then she turns to the map she has spread across the table. "This is the layout of the entire island," she says, smoothing her hand over the crackling paper. "Here is our land," she traces her finger over the majority of it, all coated in a faint shade of blue, "and this is the uncharted territory, also known as Dragon territory." She traces a shaded black part. Then she looks up at them. "I have about 125 betas that will be able enough to fight, plus 20 omegas who are in this pack's debt and one other alpha, Scott. Scott, of course, won't be leading a regiment, but I have my brother and a few more war generals to lead our betas. 100 of all those I've said can achieve a full shift. Scott will stay behind and plan battle attacks. He can also lead our spy group of fifteen highly trained omegas. They'll make sure everything is running smoothly on the battlefield.

"Now I understand that your men cannot fight," Talia looks pointedly at Chris. "We will compensate. But we need to know all of your species' weaknesses so we will not lose." 

Chris immediately stiffens. "I don't believe that that is the best course of action." 

Talia heightens herself to match. "And I assure you that it is. I cannot lose my entire pack and your people need our help. The only way we can all win is if you tell me your people's weaknesses." 

"And lose countless dragons to your vicious dogs? I think not!" 

"Don't you dare—!" Talia begins, but is cut off by a sharp 

"Stop!" The two turn from their intense stare-off to see Cora standing in the doorway. "Just, please stop. Hear me out, I think I know the best way to work this out." Her hands are held out to each leader, fingers splayed to keep them back. Her dark eyes flicker up between their faces. "During training, it seemed like Derek was some kind of magical dragon chainer. We thought there was something wrong in the air, that somehow Derek was _cheating._ " She barks a laugh. "I mean, he kind of was, but that's not the point. The point is is that Derek found a way to subdue these dragons without killing them. Spending time with Stiles did that." She spares a small side glance to the dragon boy, but turns away quickly. 

Talia sighs, her face scrunching like she has a gigantic migraine. "Fine." She turns towards a door that has been behind her and her desk the entire time. "Laura?" She calls, and a not-so-miniature version of Talia comes striding through the doorway. "Go to Derek. Wake him in five minutes exactly; he's had enough time." 

Laura nods and turns to Stiles. "Come with me." Stiles glances quickly at all the dragons in the room, and Cora is avoiding his eyes. He swallows and follows the threateningly tall alpha-to-be, his mind choosing this moment to remember all the stories Derek had told him about her killer sucker-punch and ability to pin down anything that moves, not to mention her affinity for ripping dragon wings during attacks. He shudders at the thought. 

The further down the hall they go, the more his missing limb aches. The spring is already rusted and creaky, and it squeals with unhinged protest each time he sets his foot down. He wants to make it stop just because he fears that Laura is annoyed by it. He knows that it's the only thing he can hear as they get one step, two steps closer to Derek each time. 

Finally Laura stops in front of an open doorway and glances at Stiles for a millisecond before striding in. He figures that he's supposed to follow, and he does. When he steps into the room, he can already feel the power that resides inside of it. There's a single huge window that lets the falling midday sun filter in, and the room is humble and bare. When Stiles sets his eyes on the figure lying on the bed, he can feel the blood draining quickly from his face. 

Laura turns to him sharply. "Your heartbeat quickened." She states, stepping closer. Stiles just swallows hard and shakes his head slightly. "Don't pass out on me." Her voice is sharp too, cutting. 

He clears his throat and shakes his head again, more discernible this time. "I won't." He walks around her, closer to the bed. Derek is lying there, face white and calm. His dark hair and eyebrows are a cutting contrast to his skin, stubble poking out of his face. His eyelashes are resting lightly on his face, lips slightly open to reveal the tips of front teeth. He looks beautiful. Stiles gasps for a breath and reaches a hand out to Derek's face. A hand roughly grabs him and yanks him back moments before he can reach Derek. 

"Don't touch him!" Laura shrieks, and Stiles finds himself on the ground, looking up at a distressed Laura. Her chest is heaving and there are small tears shining in her eyes. She yanks him up again and doesn't let go of his hand. "Sorry I'm sorry," she says gently. "But you can't touch him yet." 

"And why not?" Stiles asks angrily, bitter from her touch. He tries to pull away, but she holds tight. He gives out a frustrated huff. "Why is he like this? Is he alive?" 

She doesn't move her eyes from her brother. "Barely alive." She squeezes his hand lightly. "But changing." She spares a fleeting glance at Stiles. "It's a good change," she assures. "It happens to every wolf once they find their mate." 

"I...what? I don't understand." 

Laura sighs and keeps her eyes trained on Derek. "When a wolf finds and bonds to their mate, it's like a light turns on inside of them." Her voice is oddly breathy, and her eyes are far away. "All other wolves in their pack can sense it. That's when we know it's time, and that's when we know that they must...prove their worth." She purses her lips. "Their bodies and minds must survive the ultimate test of being...ripped apart by their pack." She blinks hard. "We've all gone through it. The alpha...the alpha has to just stand and watch. My mom says it doesn't get easier, and it's still hard to watch the betas..." She gestures with her other hand to her brother, trailing the thought off into space. 

"What happens to them? And uh, why can't I touch him?"

"They wake up," she says, "and they're changed." She closes her eyes. "The wolf will wake up from a touch of his mate. If the mate touches them too soon, they may not survive the change." She quickly crosses an arm over her stomach and looks away from him. "It's been five minutes. You can touch him now." Laura squeezes his hand, and this time she lets go. 

Stiles glances at her curiously. "Does this mean that I'm...his mate?" He asks, whispering near the end. 

"Just touch him." Laura says. Stiles doesn't even have the wit at the moment to make fun of the "touch him" opportunity. He just turns to Derek— _his_ Derek—who's lying still on the bed, head propped neatly on the pillow. Stiles knows that this is the perfect opportunity to have a fairytale kissing moment, but knows that if he were in Derek's place he'd find it creepy over romantic. He reaches out a shaking hand and presses it gently to Derek's jawbone. It's rough and scratchy like usual, but void of the normal fantasies attached to the feeling. Stiles leans closer. 

Derek's eyes open. 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Derek feels like he's on fire. Cool wind brushes his entire skin, but he's a radiating heater in the dark night. He looks to his left and blinks his eyes once, signaling to the glowing eyes beside him. The red eyes blink back once and Derek turns forward. 

He howls into the night and shifts for the first time. 

There is a gorgeous freedom in being totally animal. In feeling wind through fur and dirt on paws. The glowing eyes beside him are a constant reminder of the pounding pack of betas behind him, and if he strains enough he can hear a platoon far to his right, another far to his left. The one on his right has Stiles and the other dragons, but is also the most unsafe. They can still be influenced by the Leaders, and they will fly off to a safe location once actual battle begins. Their main job is to take as many dragons away before they can receive orders and be influenced by the Leaders. 

Derek and Scott's pack are in charge of taking out dragons peacefully with sugar, sweet spot scratching, and eels. It sounds stupid and insane, but Derek knows that even the smallest thing can make the biggest change. Take himself and Stiles, for example. The two "star crossed lovers" of the island. 

"We're here," Scott says through his fangs, as he still hadn't found his mate yet. 

Derek nods his huge black head at the alpha, then howls again. It's time. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Whatever Cora thought was supposed to happen definitely didn't. The Leaders's kingdom is not large, nor amazing, nor imposing, as the elder werewolves in town had said it was going to be. Their castle is merely a rock building with slabs of flint as walls and velvet curtains as doorways. It's darker and creepier than anything she could have imagined up herself, dragon skulls decorating the interior like trophies. She can smell wolf, the scent is overwhelming. 

"Mom?" She whispers, and Talia turns around from in front of her daughter and holds a finger to her lips. Cora watches as Laura shifts to a wolf form, silent and slow, bones barely cracking from the effort. There's no doubt in Cora's mind that the other alphas heard it. Their senses are heightened more than her own, but their power should be equal her mother's. Unfortunately, there's only one of her. She wonders where the three assholes are hiding. 

As if on cue, a figure steps out of the shadows. 

"I'm glad you've finally decided to show up, Talia." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Which Leader are you?" Derek hears Scott asks as the unfamiliar wolf in front of them flashes his red eyes at the group. 

"They call me Ennis," he growls, and Derek finds himself inadvertently sighing in relief. This isn't Deucalion, the scary blind Alpha that seems to be the leader of the Leaders. The sky above them lets out an angry rumbling, showing its anger for the battle. A dead dragon lays a few yards from them--a sad casualty. A few wolves have gone down, but not many. Derek rumbles with the anger of the sky, but he knows that this is mostly Scott's battle. 

Ennis takes the first swipe, and Scott sidesteps it before going in for a low attack. Ennis sees it and counters with a hard knock to the side of Scott's head, which sends him flying. He knocks his back on a tree trunk, and there's a sharp snap. Complete pain fills his face as he healing process begins in sped-up motion, copious amounts of adrenaline aiding the process. Derek uses this as his moment to take over, and a few betas behind him also see the opportunity. 

The second they pounce, the sky opens up and a downpour of water thunders down upon them. Derek is aided by three other wolves, and the three of them tear at a different part of Ennis, taking turns swiping at his face with their claws. He cannot attempt the full shift even if he had the ability, and the four of them take advantage of that. He's strong, though, and he's definitely been an alpha for a long time. However, when Scott takes over again, Ennis stands no chance. He's already wounded from the other wolves, and he doesn't have a pack of betas to add to his alpha power: Scott does. 

 

A final blow cannot be up to Scott, and once Ennis is on the ground an older wolf steps up to crush the Leader's head. 

Derek winces at the sound, but it's worth it to hear all of their victorious howls rising up above the storm.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Peter and his band of misfits (as he'd so fondly dubbed them at the beginning of the mission) trek forward in half-shifted beta form, eyes peeled for any and all misplaced surroundings. Their little platoon was put in charge of the outskirts of town and making sure they alert as many dragons as possible to get out before another command was given. Peter can hear the twins bickering again (teenagers are the worst) and he audibly sighs. A small chuckle sounds off to his left, and immediately he's throwing his hand out towards the pups and adults and standing erect, ears alert. 

The group watches as a barefooted alpha werewolf woman steps from between two stone houses, and Peter growls at himself for not noticing her scent. She spent so much time around dragons, it's hard to discern her scent from theirs. As she steps further into the moonlight, Peter is surprised to recognize her. "Kali?" He asks, and she smiles menacingly. 

"Hello, Peter." Her voice is a low purr, contrasting her wolfish features. "It's wonderful to see you again darling." 

He bares his teeth at her and begins to circle, and she does the same. It's clear that this fight is only between the two of them. "I always hated when you called me that. We never could agree on much, especially pet names." He thinks back to their arranged engagement. 

Her grin turns nasty. "You might have hated darling, but I hated whore." 

He smiles innocently. "You thought that was a pet name, dear? I was just restating what you were!" 

She shrieks and pounces on him, anger fueling her sloppy moves. Her claws are still sharp—sharper than anyone's Peter has ever seen—but her slashes are misdirected and she screams as her fist connects with a stone building wall. Peter smirks playfully at her, but it quickly disappears as she digs a few large scratches into his neck. 

Blood splatters all over, some even hitting the pups, but Peter is at it again with a new rage. He kicks Kali's feet from under her and hurls her into a building, causing a thin crack to begin right in the middle of the wall. He hurries over to her dazed form on the ground. "Oops," he says, and then slashes her throat deep enough to stop her breath. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The man's grin is unsettling, as are his sunglasses. He's obviously blind, but something tells Cora that he can see them all just fine. 

"I'm at a disadvantage," Talia says, charted. "You know my name, but I do not know yours." Cora hides a grin. Of course her mother knows this wolf's name—she's done extensive questioning on every single alpha and dragon from the information Chris and Sheriff could give her—but she has to flash her authority at every opportune moment available. 

"I am Deucalion, Leader of this society." Everyone can hear the capital L. Cora flinches as his head turns to her. 

Talia's ears perk up, and she grins menacingly at the alpha. "Do you dare fight me, Leader?" She asks. "You know I am much stronger than you. I hold the power of a hundred wolves, all that heed my every command and live in harmony. I rule with a strength stronger than power, for I rule with love and peace. Deucalion, blind alpha, you are weaker than me. We are not adversaries, for you have no chance. Your knowledge and wit may outsmart mine, but I have freedom on my side, and you have nothing left.

"Your fellow alphas have fallen to my children. Your wolves are no longer, and your dragons cannot hear your call. Surrender all the names you hold in your mind and we will let you live." 

"And live where?" Deucalion asks, his expression easy. "Live out my days in my broken castle?" He gestures around himself. "Live in your dungeons as a prisoner?" He laughs, no fear present. "No, I believe the only way out is for you to kill me." 

"Then so be it." Talia lets herself change, and Deucalion goes into his beta form. There's no question in Cora's mind that her mother was right: he does have the upper hand, for he has a sight that no one else does. Cora's about to close her eyes when a voice comes sounding out behind Deucalion's hunched form. 

"I believe that honor goes to me." 

Chris Argent brings down a chained sword on the stem part of Deucalion's neck, and his head hangs limply from where it's cut off. 

The room is completely silent as the wolves and dragons alike take in the scene, reality taking a new turn. And slowly, ever-so-slowly, Cora lifts her head in a victorious howl and listened as harmonious sounds join her. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Epilogue

 

"I swear to the gods, Stiles, if this whole damn castle gets covered with flowers I'm going to throw you off the top of it," Derek growls, reaching for the dragon boy. 

Stiles laughs merrily and jumps out of the way. "You know I can't help it! I'm just so happy and full of magic!" He twirls down the hallway. "Anyway, I'd just fall gently on a bed of tulips." He smiles cheekily at Derek and skips further, Derek hurrying to keep up. "You know, we're going to be late to my best friend's wedding. I'm the best man!" 

Derek rolls his eyes. "I know you've explained this to me enough, but I think _I'm_ technically the best man. You're the Maid of Honor." 

Stiles gasps. "Are you questioning my manhood?" 

Derek sighs, looking at the ceiling in hopes Lupa might send some lightning to strike him dead. "No Stiles, I was just—" 

"Because I have a huge ego, Mr. Sourwolf. If you so much as poke it with a stick—"

"You mean if I so much as stroke it with a feather, you'll get an inflated head? I already knew that." Derek jokes, anticipating the blow that Stiles makes to his head. 

"Asshole," the dragon boy grumbles, crossing his arms. 

"Stiles!" A high voice echoes down the hallway corridor and immediately the boy stiffens. 

"Shit," he says—

"The ceremony is starting in thrifty seconds! You and your ,am better get your assess I'm line! I'm not supposed to be the only maid of honor out there!" 

"I'm _not_ the maid of honor," Stiles grumbles, but takes his place right next to Derek in line, in front of Lydia and Jackson. 

He totally is. 

They each walk down the aisle in pairs, a gorgeous tune playing on the organ. This is the first wedding he's been apart of, and Derek has to admit that he kind of likes it. Since Allison and Scott had gotten officially mated a few months ago, they decided to appeal to the dragon side of the couple and have a wedding ceremony. Everyone's seemingly enjoying it, and it will be followed by a wedding reception of dancing and food. So far it's turned out pretty good. 

Stiles and Derek stand in opposite sides of the altar, Derek stoic and still while Stiles fiddles with his own tie for a few minutes. The music changes and everyone turns to watch Scott run down the aisle, out of breath. "Oops," he breathes to Derek, indicating his embarrassment. Derek just smiles and shakes his head, and they all watch as Allison begins her trek down the aisle. She has a dress tailored to fit around her pregnant belly and her smile is brighter than usual, which mean that it's hard to look at. 

Stiles leans over behind Scott and whispers in Derek's ear. "Do you think they'll have werewolf or dragon babies?" 

Derek shrugs, bringing a finger to his lips. Now is not the time. 

"Personally, I think they'll have werewolf dragons," he rambles, and Derek actually pushes him back into place in the bridesmaid line. 

Stiles pouts, and as Sheriff begins to say the vows the werewolf boy smirks at the sullen dragon boy. "Today, we father to celebrate the joining of two souls in their beginning to happily ever after," he begins grandly. 

Maybe one day this will be their happy ending too, Derek thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for your support. I've never written and finished something this big before, and I wish I could say I'm proud of it, but I'm not. I'm proud of all of you, and proud that I could have people who actually read and enjoyed this. Thank you so much for sticking with it till the end, you all rock. 
> 
> I DO take writing requests, btw! (And I beta, just message me). Love you all!


	9. Information!!!

Hello everyone!! 

I want to thank you all for the continuing support and love, this community is truly amazing!

I'm sorry that this isn't a chapter/epilogue, but it is an announcement! 

Many, many of you loved this story. Now, I'm not delusional and I know that you all love MANY stories, but each and every one of you mean so much to me and I'm still very unhappy with how this story turned out. 

Soooooooo....I'M WORKING ON FIXING THIS!

YAY!

So what that means is that I'm revamping this to make the characters and emotions more real, along with fixing tiny plot holes and era errors. I will be focusing more on the final fight scene, along with a bunch of characters that I made dragons for but just never added into the story. I want to add an epic epilogue as well that satisfies all of your Sterek needs, and I'm actually using quite a few commented requests in the "new and improved" version. 

Now this will not be available/I will not be able to start working on it until I have completely finished my current story (It's called We Haunt Ourselves if you'd like to check it out while you're waiting!!), but I will be taking requests and working hard on it afterwards, along with working hard to make sure many requests are filled! 

So comment anything you'd like to see in my revamped version of How To Chain Your Dragon!

Hope you're all excited as I am! Thanks fam :D

**Author's Note:**

> If you actually liked this, I would be overjoyed to see even just a quick message that you enjoyed it and maybe a few reasons why? I'm always looking for ways to improve, so please feel free to be really critical! Thanks!


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